


The Rookie Problem

by KatieComma



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Baseball, Angst, Baseball, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, Team as Family, The slowest burn of all the burns in the history of time, baseball AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-06-22 01:25:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 67,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15570687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieComma/pseuds/KatieComma
Summary: Baseball AUJack Dalton is a pro baseball player who's past his prime. But he just can't walk away from the game he loves. Will an annoying and overly enthusiastic minor league call up for a roomate frustrate Jack enough to hang up his ballcap for good?





	1. New Roomate

**Author's Note:**

> I have NO idea how many chapters this will take.
> 
> And let's be honest... As a MacDalton shipper...this is probably going to end up MacDalton so I've just labeled it that way.
> 
> Thanks to Nevcolleil for the prompt!!!! I bow to you Master of Amazing Ideas!
> 
> The ages for the boys in this fic are: Jack: 43, and Mac: 28ish.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack shows up to find out he's got a new roomate for spring training. Angus "Mac" MacGyver breaks the number one rule before they've even been introduced. Off to a great start.

A bad day can always get worse when an idiot is involved. Especially a new idiot who doesn’t know the ropes and crosses all the lines without knowing what he’s doing.

Jack’s knees cracked with every step, his muscles ached, and all he wanted in the world was a hot shower and a long sleep.

Then he rounded the corner to find the door to his suite wide open. He definitely hadn’t left it open.

He’d stopped by the suite long enough to toss his things onto the couch before he headed out to start his workout. Jack definitely hadn’t been as ardent in his training during the off season, and had opted to start spring training earlier than the rest of the team to try and get himself back up to snuff. More than anything he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of the rookies. So he’d dropped his bags in the living room and left. But he was sure he’d locked the door.

Standing in the living room with _the_ bat in his hand was a young blonde guy.

“What the hell are you doin’?” Jack growled in his most intimidating drawl.

To the kid’s credit, he didn’t even jump. Just turned around, still holding the bat.

“This is it, isn’t it?” Blondie asked.

Jack narrowed his eyes. “You better have a good reason for diggin’ through my stuff kid.”

The guy ignored him, grinning, and looking reverently at the bat in his hands. “This is the bat that hit the grand slam walk off in the world series,” he said matter-of-factly. He wasn’t asking.

The kid wasn’t wrong. It was that bat. Jack’s lucky charm. He walked over, grabbed the bat from the loose long fingered grip, and stuffed it back into his gear bag before butting chests with the kid.

“I asked you a question,” Jack tried to sound as threatening as possible despite the fatigue that was urging him to collapse on the couch. “What in the sam hill’re you doin’ touchin’ my stuff?”

The kid’s grin faded a little, his bright blue eyes sparkling just a little bit less. “Sorry,” he said, holding out his hand. “My friends call me Mac. Looks like we’re roommates.”

Roommates. Great. Usually the players hotel was sparsely populated enough that Jack was given the courtesy of his own room. Apparently this year it was full. Or Jack’s status had fallen low enough that he didn’t warrant that courtesy anymore.

“Just great,” Jack muttered. He didn’t take the kid’s hand. “Mac, was it?”

The kid nodded.

“Mac, first rule: don’t touch Jack Dalton’s stuff,” he growled, “it won’t end well for you.” He turned away, grabbed his bags and headed for the bedroom on the right side of the room.

“Is there a second rule?” Mac asked behind him, unable to keep the excitement from his voice.

Oh. This was gonna go great.


	2. For the Team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack has a one on one with Coach Thornton about the new kid, and why the hell they're being forced into close quarters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit more set up for what's to come... another short one just to get things moving.

“Listen coach, I can’t live with this kid,” Dalton paced the office while he ranted. “He’s a little shit disturber. I can just tell.”

Pat Thornton leaned back in his desk chair, arms crossed on his chest waiting for Dalton to finish. Everybody knew it was best to let Jack talk himself out, although sometimes it took quite a while. But Thornton had no other players around and nowhere else to be. Let the drama queen talk himself out.

Dalton continued to pace a hole in the carpet; The one he’d started nine years before when he’d been traded to the LA Firebirds. The very day he’d started making Coach Thornton’s life a living hell. But Dalton was sure worth it. Or he had been in better times and younger years.

“He was in my stuff,” Jack complained. “And why the hell do I have a roommate anyway? We’re the only two people in the damn hotel right now, and he’s rooming with me? This is bullshit!”

Jack stopped pacing and fell into a chair, tossed his ball cap aside and ran his hands through his buzzed hair.

“You done?” Thornton asked.

Dalton made a non-committal noise.

“I said: are you finished whining?” Thornton said, more authority in his voice this time.

Dalton looked up and nodded.

“Here’s the deal Dalton,” Thornton sat forward and tented his fingers. “This kid is gonna give us one helluva lift this year. He’s young, he’s really good, and he’s committed.”

Dalton scoffed, but Thornton wasn’t going to stop and ask which part of that he had a problem with.

“But he’s green and we’ve gotta get him ready for April,” Thornton said.

“What do you mean we?” Dalton growled.

“I mean you and me,” Thornton said, “but really, if I’m being honest, more you.”

“Nope.”

“He needs a mentor,” Thornton tried to soften his voice a little. “And he looks up to you. Talked about you during his whole interview. How he always wanted to play on this team because’a you, blah blah blah.”

“Oh, blah blah blah, that’s my whole career to you now, right?” Dalton asked, jumping up from his seat to continue his pacing. 

“He’s good, but he can be better,” Thornton said. “He just needs the right…”

“Big brother?” Dalton submitted, rolling his eyes at the idea.

“Something like that,” Thornton nodded.

“I can tell you right now that ain’t gonna happen,” Dalton groused. He stopped and looked away from the desk, out into the hallways. Empty hallways waiting for the players to return. “Who’d he replace anyway?” Dalton asked.

“Hmmm?” Thornton pretended that he hadn’t heard the question.

Dalton turned and sank back into the chair. “You called him up right? So, who’d he replace?”

Thornton sighed and looked down at the papers on his desk. “I hoped he would have called you himself first.”

“Not Bozer,” Jack pleaded. “Come on. Kid’s been doing good for us. Gets along with everybody and-”

“It’s not Boz,” Thornton said. “McGarrett’s gone.” He’d always found that pulling the bandaid and just giving the news without any sugar on top was the best way to do it.

Dalton leaned back in the chair, a look of total defeat crossing his features.

“He got an offer from one of those minor league teams they’re starting up in Hawaii. Head coach,” Thornton said.

“Well ain’t this just the best day I ever had?” Dalton asked. “Lost my privacy and my best friend in one fell swoop.”

Thornton felt bad for the guy. He wasn’t wrong. Him and McGarrett had been thick as thieves going on nine years. They’d been fan favourites for years too. And then the game started to creep into their joints and their muscles and they just didn’t have what they used to. That was the way it went with all the players. You couldn’t play the game forever. Thornton had found it was best to leave it on your terms, and not baseball’s. That’s all McGarrett had done: Picked his own terms. Thornton leaned across the desk, trying his best to look sympathetic; It was a look he’d practiced in the mirror on more than one occasion.

“Look Jack,” Thornton said, using Dalton’s first name to make it more personal. “McGarrett’s happy. Give him a call. This was his choice. What I need from you right now is to help me with this damn kid.” And now to twist the words to get Jack on board. “You’re right. He’s a huge pain in the ass. And I need you to help me whip him into shape. That’s why you guys are rooming together. That’s why he’s here early. I’m relying on you here Jack. The team’s relying on you. Help me get him ready.” Dalton could never resist the team, those were the magic words to get him to push through, work harder, play one more inning, hit that last home run, help train the new rookie.

Jack roared with frustration, walked out of the office and slammed the door hard, making the blinds swing back and forth for several minutes.

Thornton sat back in his chair and relaxed. A slammed door was as good as a yes from Jack Dalton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry/not sorry for the Hawaii Five-0 reference.


	3. The Spark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack storms out of his chat with Coach Thornton and finds himself watching Mac practice. Maybe the kid does have something after all...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry these chapters are all so short... it's just kinda the way this story is turning out.

Instead of saying yes, Jack slammed the door hard on his way out of Coach Thornton’s office.

Steve McGarrett was a coward. That’s all there was to it. How could he have made this huge decision, signed the documents and walked away without even a text in Jack’s direction? Cause he was a coward. Jack wanted to call the guy up and scream at him through the phone. Anything to make him understand that hearing news like that from the coach was an insult to their friendship of almost ten damn years.

And now this kid. He had to deal with this stupid kid. Who wandered around with this helpless grin on his face like the world wasn’t out to get him. Jack would make him understand that his days were numbered. Everyone was out to get you from the start, hoping for an injury, waiting for you to fail. All so the next guy could move one rung up the ladder.

Without even thinking about what his feet were doing or where he was going he made his way to the batting cages. A bat in his hand, cracking baseballs into the net was always one of the best ways to ride out his waves of anger and frustration.

But as he neared the cages he heard the crack of bat against ball that stopped him in his tracks. Another clack and thunk as the pitching machine loosed a ball, only a moments pause, and then that beautiful sound again: The sharp sound of wood colliding with cowhide at 80 mph. When someone did it right, no other sound compared.

It had to be the kid; They were still a week out from the pitchers and catchers showing up for training.

Curious, Jack snuck to a spot where he was at the kid’s back and the mesh and netting would hide him from view. Watching someone unfettered by an audience was one of the best ways to gauge their ability.

And then Jack saw it: the spark that Coach Thornton had seen.

The small step forward with each swing, the perfect symmetry of twisting shoulders and torso, the reach of strong forearms that looked effortless, the tensing leg muscles that anchored him. Each swing connected perfectly. 

Watching Mac at bat brought Jack back in time. It was every summer vacation as a kid, playing a pickup game with the kids at the park. The smell of a new glove. Sand scratching under his sneakers as he hustled from second to third. Sun in his eyes when he tried to catch a fly ball.

Thunk of the ball machine. Crack of the bat. Swish of the netting catching the ball.

Jack’s first little league win. Hitting a home run over the fence. The tight shoulders of a new uniform. Chasing a dog into the stands to get the game ball back.

And the kid just kept hitting them. Ball after ball. Perfect swing after perfect swing.

From just a few minutes of watching him, Jack knew Mac was lightning in a bottle. He was gonna be a star player for sure. And he had the looks too, which always helped for promos and commercials.

Jack backed away from the cages and headed into the gym. There wasn’t a whole lot to work on where batting was concerned, from what Jack could see. He wasn’t sure how he was gonna help the kid improve any. Maybe he had fielding issues. Coach Thornton would have to break it down for him.

Sitting down on a bench Jack leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. When had he become that man? The man who complacently trained his own replacements and waited for the day he wouldn’t be wanted anymore?

“Dalton!” A sharp feminine voice cut through the quiet in the empty gym.

Jack damn near jumped off the bench and looked up to find Matty Webber striding toward him. This day was just getting better by the minute.

“You were supposed to come see me first thing this morning,” Matty scolded as she approached, hands on her hips. There wasn’t much Jack was truly scared of, but at just over four feet Matty Webber qualified. As the team physiotherapist he’d been seeing more and more of her over the last few years. Injury after injury sent him into her not-so-gentle, caring hands.

“Busy,” Jack replied simply. “Had a meeting with Thornton.”

Matty sighed. “Right. About the new kid.”

“You met him yet?” Jack asked.

Matty nodded and sat next to him on the bench. “Nice kid. But he seems a bit…”

“Annoying,” Jack suggested.

“Naive,” Matty said.

“That too,” Jack agreed.

The silence carried, but it wasn’t awkward. Matty’d been working with the team for about five years, and Jack respected what she did and the attitude she did it with. They’d developed a strange kind of working friendship over the years. Not as tightly knit, but similar, to what he’d had with Steve. 

What he’d had with Steve. Past tense.

“You hear about McGarrett?” Jack asked.

“Yup, I got the roster yesterday,” she said.

“So everybody knew but me,” he sulked, leaning forward and putting his head into his hands.

“He didn’t tell you?” Matty asked. Strange to hear sympathy in her voice. Definitely a rarity.

Jack just shook his head. This whole thing was affecting him much more than he wanted to admit and he was afraid that if he said anything all the damn emotion would flood out.

“Just give him a call Jack,” Matty suggested. Using his first name. She was babying him. Another rarity. In the world of big-headed testosterone fuelled sports stars, she couldn’t afford to give the team any ground. Most of the time.

“Maybe,” Jack said unconvincingly. No way was he calling Steve. It wasn’t his mess to clean up and he wasn’t about to go grovelling to his friend for an apology. Steve could call him and that was that.

“Seriously?” Matty’s sharp tone was back again. “You guys are all like an episode of Housewives sometimes you know that? So much drama.” She hopped to her feet. “Well, let’s get to it. That rotator cuff didn’t heal that way it should have because _somebody_ wasn’t keeping up his recovery routine. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Jack stood up and wandered back toward the door. “Just give me a few Matty,” he requested.

Listless feet led him out into the hallway and back toward the sound of baseballs hitting a bat.

There was an addiction to watching Mac hit. Wanting to feel like a kid again was a gnawing craving in Jack's gut. Something magical. Like watching Walter Johnson or Ted Williams hit, Jack guessed. Magnetic. He just wanted a few more minutes of that before he had to return to the real world. 

So he walked back to the cages and hung off the netting, soaking in the nostalgia of seeing the game in a new and brighter light. Maybe this was the beginning of a different part of his life. Maybe this kid was the answer to a question he hadn’t asked himself yet.


	4. The Root of the Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack chats with coach Thornton about what the new rookie needs help with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baseball stats stuff...
> 
> For those reading this without a TON of knowledge of baseball stats... I will do my best to break them down in the notes if/when stats come up in a chapter so you're not wandering around in the dark.
> 
> Batting average is calculated by dividing the number of hits by the number of at bats. So if you were at bat four times and you had two hits you're batting .500
> 
> The average in the majors is between .250 and .275 - a really great hitter will be over .300
> 
> Per the specific stats info I was reading (Wikipedia), below .230 (unless you're a pitcher) is pretty crappy.
> 
> I hope this isn't TOO much info... and I hope it's easy to understand.

Physio over, Jack felt like he was broken again. Sure, he’d been a bit lax with the exercises for his rotator cuff during the off season, that didn’t mean Matty had to hurt him to prove a point. But she’d sure tried anyway.

Jack left the locker rooms, freshly showered, and made his way back to Thornton’s office.

The door was open, and he walked in and sat down in a chair without invitation.

“What’s wrong with the kid?” Jack asked bluntly.

“Sorry?” Thornton looked up.

“You asked for my help, so what’s wrong with the kid?” Jack said. “From what I can tell it can’t be his at bat. Fielding maybe?”

Thornton leaned back in his chair. “It _is_ his at bat actually.”

Jack shook his head. “I watched the kid hit for an hour today. Textbook perfect swing.”

“Against a machine, right?” Thornton asked.

Jack shrugged. “A’course. Who’s gonna pitch for him? Me?” He barked a laugh. Jack had never been a pitcher, never been interested. Pitchers don’t hit, and Jack had always loved hitting. He’d played right field for as long as he could remember, and hit them out of the park for as long as he could remember. It took a special kinda guy and a lot of practice to throw a 90 mph fastball. Jack was not that kinda special.

“When he’s up against a real pitcher he’s…” Thornton narrowed his eyes as he searched for a word, which meant he was trying to play down the bad news. “Inconsistent.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Then what in the hell is he doing here?” He asked.

“What he’s doing here is getting a crash course on hitting from the best there is Jacky boy,” Thornton said. “Who better than the great Jack Dalton to make a great hitter out of a .224?”

Flattery will get you almost everywhere. But Jack hadn’t been the best in a long while, and wasn’t buying. “.224?!” Jack shouted. If he was gonna make a great hitter he needed something to start with. A batting average of .224 wasn’t even close. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

Thornton leaned forward. “You’ve seen him hit Dalton,” he said, “you can see it. It’s right there. He’s so close. This kid’s gonna do it for us. We just need to help him the rest of the way.”

Jack saw it now. “And he was cheap because his stats are shit,” Jack threw up his hands and laughed.

Thornton sighed and sat back. “And he was cheap because his stats are shit,” he confirmed. “But he’s got a ton of potential.”

“That’s what the minors are for Thornton,” Jack replied. “You take the ones with potential and you train them. And when they’re ready, you call them up.”

“We thought maybe throwing him into the deep end might get him where he needs to be,” Thornton said. “The minors just haven’t been getting him there.”

“Well yeah, .224 average is tellin’ me that he hasn’t been gettin’ there,” Jack said. “Wantin’ somebody to be a star with an average that isn’t near .300 is askin’ for trouble man.”

“Well, in the minors he didn’t have the great Jack Dalton as a mentor,” Thornton smiled as though he’d come up with a foolproof plan. “Come on Jacky, you’ve seen the kid. He was born to be a star.”

“I hate to keep repeatin’ myself coach, but not with numbers like .224 he ain't,” Jack said.

Thornton’s face clouded over. “Either you’re in, or you’re out. And if you’re in, then just see what you can do with the kid,” he commanded, toggling from his buddy-buddy voice to his coach voice like flipping a switch.

“And if I’m out?” Jack asked. He was in, but it was always fun to test the waters.

“Let’s not have that conversation Dalton,” Thornton said, all business, switching back to Jack's first name.

“Alright, alright,” Jack held up his hands in surrender. “But you better have a pitcher comin’ in. I sure as hell ain’t gonna do it. And I can’t teach him nothin’ hitting’ against a machine.”

“I got somebody in mind,” Thornton said. “You just keep working on your physio, and try to play friendly with the kid until backup arrives.”

“Which will be when?” Jack asked.

“Tomorrow or the next day,” Thornton said dismissively, “I’ll let you know.”

“Aye aye cap’n,” Jack said with a sigh and a halfhearted salute, heaving himself out of the chair.

 

 

Jack got back to his suite ready for a few beers and a long sleep. One of those vices he’d just never been able to let go, there was always beer in the fridge. Jack grabbed a cold one and sat down on the couch, homesick already.

Living in LA for so long he sometimes forgot just how nice it was to be near that great big beautiful body of water. Instead he had to settle for the condensation on his beer bottle. Arid Phoenix, Arizona had little else to offer. He never understood why they had to train in another city, and he hated Phoenix. Not because it was a bad city, but because it wasn’t home. Even Texas wasn’t home anymore. After nine years of playing for the LA Firebirds, Los Angeles was home now. 

As a young player he’d been traded around; A few years here, a few years there, but nowhere had ever felt just right. Nowhere had felt like a place to settle. Until LA. 

After his first contract was up he’d become a free agent. He’d looked around at other offers, and there were a lot of other offers back when he’d been a sound investment, but he’d taken less money to stay in LA. Because it had become home. The fans cheered louder for him in LA than any other city, and he’d made some close friends, that were almost like family.

And Steve McGarrett had been in LA. They’d signed contracts the same year and quickly become thick as thieves. Fate had pulled them together, and nothing could break them apart. Not even fights over women through the years. 

Jack had never had someone like Steve in his life. Someone he could depend on no matter what. Someone to trust. Every year as the trade deadline loomed, Jack could see the same fear in Steve’s eyes: one of them would be traded and that would be the end of their friendship. But it had never happened. The team had built them up as a duo, and the fans liked it that way: McGarrett and Dalton. Dalton and McGarrett. Two peas in a pod. They’d often joked about retiring from play and coaching on the same team together. It had been phrased like a joke, but Jack had always read something true buried there. It was a dream he’d always leaned on as one day becoming a reality.

Not anymore. Steve had left. Without even a word to him. The betrayal hurt in Jack’s gut and made him want to cry. But he heard his pop’s voice in his head telling him not to be silly and pick himself up. Cryin’ never got nothin’ done. That didn’t mean he wasn’t gonna be mad at Steve. Mad as hell. Until Steve called and gave him a damn good reason for what he’d done, and how he’d gone about it.

The door opened and Mac wandered in. Dead silence. Jack realized he’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t even turned the TV on and was just starting at the black screen across from him. His beer was still unopened in his hand, soaking his pants with condensation.

Mac went to his room and Jack cracked the beer, glancing around for the TV remote.

The kid returned to the main room and leaned in the doorway of his bedroom, running his hands nervously through his hair. “You mind if I grab one of those?” He asked, motioning to Jack's bottle.

“Knock yourself out,” Jack said. He tried not to sound like a grumpy old man, but didn’t succeed. His thoughts had been dragging him down and he was taking it out on the kid.

Mac sat down on the couch, beer in hand, and found the remote behind a cushion before turning the screen on. He paged through the channel listings in silence until he stopped on a movie that had just started.

“You ok with Die Hard?” Mac asked.

“Never been one of my favourites,” Jack joked.

“Are you kidding?” Mac asked, the enthusiasm he’d shown over Jack’s bat returned to his face.

“Course I’m kidding,” Jack replied. Apparently his bad mood was so foul even his jokes didn’t sound jovial. “Who doesn’t like Die Hard?”

Mac clicked into the movie and they settled in to watch it. They’d both seen it so many times that they talked over most of it, commenting on this that or the other awesome thing about it.

At one point they even recited a line together and clinked their beer bottles together.

Jack forgot about being pissed at Steve. For a little while anyway.

Maybe the rookie wasn’t so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could not tell you why... but this chapter was painful to get out. So I hope it doesn't suck... because a lot of the time when I force out writing it just isn't good... but the story's moving along now!!! :D


	5. The Meanest Southpaw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pitcher shows up to help out with Mac's training, turns out he's an old friend. Thornton lets Jack know what's at stake if he fails with the kid. Matty shares the beginnings of a secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> southpaw = slang for a left handed pitcher
> 
> In the American League pitchers don't hit. There is a designated hitter assigned to hit in place of the pitcher in the lineup every night.
> 
> Sorry this is getting updated really slowly... I'm a little stuck on writing right now and haven't been doing so much of it. I'll do my best, but no promises on any kind of a schedule.

Jack’s alarm went off way too damn early the next morning. 7AM too early.

He hit snooze. 9 times.

When it went off the 10th time, a knock cracked on his bedroom door and Mac’s voice echoed through it. “Are you ever going to get up?” The rookie sounded irritated. “Or just wake up the rest of the building?”

“You are the rest of the building rookie!” Jack yelled back before hitting snooze one more time and pulling a hard pillow over his head to block out the light.

Jack finally stumbled out of bed, dressed, and followed the smell of fresh coffee into the kitchen.

Without uttering a word or a request, Jack found a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Not sure how you take it,” Mac said.

Jack rounded the island and found the butter dish. He scooped a healthy spoonful of the stuff into his coffee and stirred until it melted into the bitter black liquid.

“I’m sorry, did you just…” Mac trailed off, eyes wide, pointing at Jack’s cup.

“What?” Jack asked, tracing Mac’s pointer finger to the butter dish. “Oh. Yeah. Buddy of mine got me on it. It’s an energy thing. Good for your brain. Want some?”

Just another thing to remind him of Steve. Jack remembered the first time he saw Steve scoop a big gob of yellow butter into his coffee. He’d thought it was disgusting too.

“No. No. No. No,” Mac held a hand up to hammer home the point that he was not interested and backed away.

Jack took a swig of the coffee. Mac watched and cringed.

“Stupid question,” Mac said, “but why in the hell did you set your alarm so early if you weren’t going to get up?”

Jack polished the cup of coffee off and poured a second. “Gotta work into it slow,” Jack replied. “Takes me a few weeks to get back on schedule. Getting up at 5AM and all that. I’m tryin’ to adjust myself slowly. 7AM this week. 6AM next week. So on and so on.”

Mac groaned and did his best to look tired. Jack wasn’t fooled. He knew tired like the back of his hand. Knew aching and wanting sleep so badly he’d take a nap on the bench between a double header. This kid didn’t know tired. Not yet.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Jack admitted, tipping his cup in his roommate’s direction. “I’m used to rooming alone. Haven’t lived with anybody in a long long time.”

A knock interrupted their conversation. Jack checked the microwave clock. 8:30 AM. Coach wouldn’t be at their door so early. Not when spring training hadn’t even really started yet.

Mac shot a questioning look in Jack’s direction. Jack shrugged and answered it.

On the other side of the door was one of the biggest personalities the LA Firebirds had to offer.

“My man!” Wilt Bozer said, grabbing Jack’s hand and pulling him in for a one-armed hug. “How’s the winter been? Your shoulder better yet? You know we need you out in the field bro. Don’t you worry. Bozer’s here and he’s gonna fix you right up. Cook up some ribs, some of my famous life changing burgers. You’ll be right as rain in no time.” In true Bozer fashion he just kept talking. 

Bozer was a great pitcher, and he loved the game, it was his first love. His second love was talking, his third: cooking. Women definitely belonged in there somewhere, but Jack had never been quite sure where they fit on the scale. Depended on the day of the week and the time of day.

“So you’re the pitcher they called in early,” Jack concluded, “didn’t tell me they were sendin’ in the meanest south paw in the game. Good to see you Boze.”

Bozer walked into the room and spotted the rookie.

“Bozer!” Mac called out, leaving his cup on the counter and pulling the pitcher in for a hug. “I didn’t expect to see you so early.”

Bozer returned the gesture. “I heard a rumour that there was two fine and disreputable gentlemen sullying this establishment and thought I’d join in the fun.”

“You all know each other?” Jack asked, motioning back and forth between Bozer and Mac.

“We played together in Mission City,” Mac said.

“The Mission City Marvels,” Bozer sighed nostalgically. “The good old days.”

“Not so long ago for some of us,” Mac said, his eyes glancing self consciously in Jack’s direction.

Mission City was the Firebird’s minor league team. The team Mac had been called up from. Apparently Bozer had been pulled up from the same team. But it had been a few years for Bozer. Must have been hard for Mac, watching his friends get called up and waiting for the same thing to happen to him year after year. Jack could see in his eyes that he was ashamed it had taken so long. And here he was, placed into Jack’s hands. It all rested on him to make the kid a star, or watch him burn out. What a weight to put on a guy. What a weight for both of them to bear.

“-whadya say my man Jack?” Boze asked, still talking.

“Still half asleep man,” Jack admitted, pouring another cup of coffee, “wanna lay that one on me one more time?”

“I said let’s get out there already,” Boze waved his left hand around, “I’m itching to strike you fools out.”

If there was one thing that could be said about Jack Dalton, it was that he loved a challenge. He threw back the rest of the hot cup of coffee, slammed it on the counter and nodded.

 

 

It didn’t take long for Jack to understand what was happening with the kid. 

Jack had Mac warm up against the machine, and there it was again: that perfect swing that he so envied. Now that he wasn’t watching from a distance he could see the serious and determined set to Mac’s mouth, jaw, and brows. His grip was comfortable, his stance loose; Until the ball machine clacked and then it was all taught muscle moving in one perfect arc, popping the ball into the netting with seemingly no effort at all.

But then Mac was up against Bozer.

The rookie squared up at the plate, just the same as in the cages. Same comfortable stance, same cocky ease. 

And then Bozer let loose a pitch. Pretty standard fastball, straight down the middle and nowhere near top speed.

Mac’s swing was too slow, and didn’t have that perfect flow. It was awkward and off kilter.

Jack watched three more failed attempts before he saw it. It was the look on the kid’s face that gave it away. Before the pitch was let loose, Mac was all cool determination. But as soon as Bozer’s arm came around the look faded, replaced by pure confusion; Wrinkled brows and downturned mouth.

Plain and simple: Angus MacGyver was overthinking it.

It happened to the best of ‘em. But Jack didn’t know what anybody expected him to do about it. When somebody got stuck in their own head, it’d take a team of shrinks to get them out.

Jack held up his hand to stop Bozer from throwing any more pitches and walked out to the mound. He turned away from the plate before he spoke so his voice wouldn’t carry back to the kid.

“He always been this way?” Jack asked.

Bozer didn’t even ask what they were talking about. “‘Fraid so,” he answered. “Long as I’ve known him. Been trying to fix it for years.”

Jack frowned. “Fix it how? What’s he done about it?”

“We were on that team for years together, and they brought in psychologists and batting coaches and nothing’s ever worked,” Bozer said.

“If it’s always been like this, why’s he still here?” Jack asked, hoping he didn’t sound to heartless.

“Kid loves the game,” Bozer replied. “You’ve seen it Jack, or you wouldn’t be out here tryin’ to help him at all. When he’s doin’ it right, it’s like watchin’ magic.”

Jack just nodded out toward the empty field, the empty stands, and started pondering the problem. If he was having trouble overthinking in front of any empty ballpark, how was Jack going to get him to a place where he wouldn’t get nervous in front of a full crowd?

“Any ideas?” Jack cocked an eyebrow at Boze.

Bozer shook his head and laughed. It seemed like Boze was always laughing. Nothing could get the guy down. “Dude, I’m a pitcher in the American League. They don’t even let us up to bat. What kinda advice are you expecting outta me?”

Jack smiled.

“Come on!” Mac yelled from the plate, irritated. “Are we doing this or what?”

“Did he just-” Jack started the sentence but couldn’t finish his thought as he turned back to Mac.

“I think he did,” Boze smiled and looked at his shoes. 

“Give ‘im hell Jack,” Bozer called as Jack walked with determination back toward the rookie.

 

 

Jack was on a fifth set of weights for Matty, who was watching him with an evil gleam in her eye.

“He was hittin’ for damn near an hour straight today Matty,” Jack said through grunted effort. “And he must’a hit four balls tops. Boze wasn’t even throwin’ heat.”

Matty just nodded. She tended to try to keep out of team politics. As she’d told him more than a few times, they were all like a bunch of teenaged girls and it was best to stay away from the hair pulling.

“What the hell is he even doing here?” Jack asked. “Thornton’s askin’ me for a damn miracle on this one.” He let out a pained groan as he pulled the last weight a bit harder than he’d intended.

“Woah cowboy,” Matty scolded. “Take it easy. We’re trying to fix you, not break you again.”

Jack collapsed on the mat. “I seriously don’t get it. What is it about this kid that’s got everybody’s panties in a twist?”

“Even yours?” Matty asked with a laugh, trying to use humour to deflect the situation while she took the dumbbell from Jack and stowed it back in its place.

“Hell yeah, even mine,” Jack whined. “The way he was hittin’ in those cages was a thing’a beauty.”

Matty narrowed her eyes at him, the way she did when she had really good gossip.

Jack pointed at her. “You know somethin’. C’mon. Out with it.”

“Jack, you know I’m not at liberty to discuss-”

“Naw, don’t play that card on me Matty,” he said, “not me. We’ve known each other too damn long for that.”

Matty looked around like there was any one else in the damn clubhouse and she was afraid they’d overhear. The place was full of crickets.

“Ok, but you have to keep this one under your hat Dalton,” she said quietly.

For emphasis, Jack lifted up his ball cap and held it just over his buzzed scalp for a moment as though he would actually stow her info up under there.

“I don’t know a lot,” she said, “but it seems like maybe he’s got connections somewhere.”

Jack groaned and fell back to lay spread eagle on the mat. “Not a trust fund kid,” he whined.

“Seems like,” she said. “I don’t know who he’s connected to, but it looks that way.”

“This just got so much more annoying,” Jack said. “Especially cause I was just startin’ to maybe think about likin’ the kid.”

Matty offered Jack her hand, and he let her pull him back up to sitting.

“Plus, come on, you’ve seen the kid,” Matty said, “he’s a perfect poster boy. Marketing probably ordered champagne when they saw blondie’s photo come up in the roster.”

“You ain’t wrong,” Jack admitted.

 

 

The chair in Thornton’s office was getting more and more familiar with Jack’s butt every day.

“Coach, I’m tellin’ you, the kid ain’t got it,” Jack said.

“It’s been one day Dalton,” Thornton said, barely looking up from his desk.

“Scouts give a kid about the same amount’a time,” Jack defended. “If I’se a scout, I would’a left him behind.”

“You’re not a scout,” Thornton sat back in his chair and gave his full attention over to the conversation. “You’re not even a coach. You’re just one of the best damn players in the game and I’m asking you to give this kid the benefit of the doubt. You were a rookie once Jack. Not so long ago. Don’t your remember what it’s like? It’s scary and daunting. Just give him a little time.”

“Time for what?” Jack asked. “You know the problem. I know you know it. You’ve seen it. Kid’s stuck in his head, overthinking the pitches, overthinking the swing, overthinking the lot.”

“You’re right, I’ve seen it. And it’s one of the things that makes him good defensively,” Thornton admitted. “He makes split second decisions on the field, and they’re always right on the money.”

“You’re already sold on this whole idea,” Jack said, “you seem convinced this is gonna happen. But you don’t have to do any of the work.”

“That’s all on you Jacky boy,” Thornton smiled one of his rare and off-putting smiles.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack said, “and what happens to old ‘Jacky boy’ when it don’t work out?”

Coach’s smile faded as quickly as it had come. “We’re not having that talk yet.”

Jack shook his head. “Is that how it is?”

“You think McGarrett would be gone if I’d had a use for him?” Thornton asked, cold and quiet.

Jack’s blood started to boil and he thought there was probably steam coming out of his ears. His teeth ground together until he thought they might crack.

Jack stood up, and kicked the chair back behind him, staring daggers at Thornton, and pointing with force toward his chest. “Well then you best get those papers drawn up jefe,” Jack said, his voice getting louder with every word. “Cause you’re not giving me much fuckin’ chance with a charity case like MacGyver!” He turned and stormed out of the office, almost running into someone on the way.

Mac backed up against the wall, his bright eyes full of hurt and anger. 

Jack was too furious to stop and say anything and just kept barrelling down the hall. But damn if he didn’t regret what he saw in those bright baby blues.

 

 

Jack didn’t see Mac again all day. The rookie didn’t come back to their place after practice, didn’t drop a text or a call. Not that Jack expected it, he wasn’t a babysitter or a chaperone, just a roommate.

Finally, when Jack was finishing the last of the beer in the fridge and watching bad TV, Bozer dropped him a text to say they’d gone out to the club. Probably for the best; Blowing off some steam. Jack would apologize in the morning and hoped it wasn’t too late to save the kid’s opinion of him.

 

 

After hitting snooze 4 times the next morning, Jack stumbled out of bed and into the kitchen to get some of the coffee he could smell in the air. He got to the island, feet still carrying him by memory without much assistance from his eyes, when he almost tripped right over someone. Someone not Mac. Someone with glorious curves and long, long blonde hair.

“Oh, hi,” the girl said awkwardly. She was wearing next to nothing: underwear and a man’s t-shirt, and holding a cup of coffee.

What a catch Mac! Long blonde hair that was casually tangled, full lips, wide steely blue eyes and skin that looked like it would taste like honey.

“Hi,” Jack said with a smile. A smile he’d practiced on women for years and years. A tested and true smile.

“I really think maybe I should go get dressed, probably,” she said, smiling awkwardly back at him. Coffee cup in one hand, she was unsuccessfully trying to tug the t-shirt hem down with the other hand.

Jack realized he was only wearing his boxers. “I’d like to point out that this is my place and I get to set the dress code. And I can say that you are definitely meeting it. You might even be a little overdressed,” he said flirtatiously, walking around the counter to pour himself a cup of coffee.

“Angus didn’t say anything about having a roommate,” she said, sidling up to the counter to use it for cover.

“Angus?” Jack asked. “That’s just the worst name isn’t it? Angus? Gross.”

The girl laughed, and it was deep and throaty, like Kathleen Turner. What a bombshell. How’d the kid score a chick like that?

Jack leaned toward her across the counter with his cup of coffee. You didn’t steal another guy’s girl, that was the unspoken rule. But you could sure flirt with her if you wanted. Plus, she was probably just a one night stand.

“I’m Jack,” he stuck out his hand. “Angus’ roommate.” That name just didn’t feel right on his tongue and he resolved to never use it again.

The girl laughed at the way he tripped over Mac’s first name and then tucked a stray bit of hair out of her face. “Nice to meet you Jack. I’m Alice,” she said, gripping his hand. “Alice Hunter.”


	6. A Good Duet Fixes Anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack tries to make good with Mac.

Mac grabbed his girl and snuck out before Jack could even say a quick “howdy.” So that was how it was gonna be. Well, Jack was just gonna have to fix the mess he’d made.

He took the coffee pot and padded down the hall in his bare feet and boxers to Bozer’s place.

Knowing that Bozer was going to be plenty hungover, Jack knocked loud and hard.

After several minutes the pitcher opened the door, weaving on his feet. “‘Sup Jack?” He asked as he wandered back into the living room and fell onto his couch.

“Long night?” Jack asked, fully awake and caffeinated after a whole pot of coffee to himself. “You get lucky too? Or just the kid?”

Bozer was already snoring.

Jack grabbed a cup from the kitchen, filled it from his coffee pot, set it on the table in front of Boze and then dumped a bowl of cold water over the pitcher’s head.

The dude barely flinched, but at least he woke up.

“The hell man?” Bozer asked as he sat forward and grabbed the cup of coffee.

“You alone?” Jack rephrased his question.

“Hell yeah I’m alone,” Bozer said. “That’s the one thing I did not miss about Mac. Might as well kiss your chances goodbye when you go out to the bar with him. The girls love him. Always have. And still do apparently.” He took a huge gulp of coffee. “Not to mention I got myself a little somebody waitin’ back in LA.” He winked conspiratorially.

“Ain’t that cute,” Jack said. “Listen. I’m not gonna be at practice today. You meet up with Mac and do your thing. But you tell him you’re busy after, ok?”

“Why?” Bozer asked, suspicious.

Didn’t hurt to share. A team worked best without secrets. “I’m takin’ him out for karaoke.”

Bozer’s smile lit up the room. “Aw yeah! I knew you’d warm up to him. Mac said somethin’ last night about you guys not gettin’ along. You don’t like him or somethin’. And I told him: Mac, Jack likes everybody. It’s all in your head.”

Jack slumped down on the wet couch. “I may,” he paused long, “have put my foot in my mouth big time yesterday.”

“What’id you say?” Bozer asked, slurping more coffee.

Jack cringed. Admitting his mistakes had never been his strong point. “It’s possible I told coach that he was hopeless, and Mac overheard me.”

Bozer nodded. “That explains a lot.”

Jack shot him a questioning look.

“Mac’s not normally the party guy, but last night he was lit,” Bozer said. “Drank more than I’ve ever seen him put back, and he was makin’ out with this gorgeous blonde with…” At which point Bozer trailed off and made an hourglass shape in the air with his hands almost spilling his coffee.

“Yeah yeah,” Jack slapped his hands down, “I saw her. He took her home.”

“Well I’m here to tell you that she is not his type,” Bozer said, “but when you’re that drunk, the lines get blurry I suppose.”

“Boze, that girl is everyone’s type,” Jack said.

Bozer raised an eyebrow at him that Jack didn’t fully understand, but he wasn’t in the mood to go there.

“So you see, I gotta make it right before we can get back on track,” Jack said. “Karaoke’s the best thing I got.”

Bozer smiled. “It’s good man,” he said, “it’ll work.”

 

 

Jack was sitting on the bar stool at the kitchen island when Mac got back from practice. The rookie tried to avoid him and walk straight to his room, but Jack cut him off, standing in the doorway.

Mac’s face was stony. The scary-factor of that look surprised Jack. So far he’d just seen Mac looking like an excited and lost little puppy dog, all wide eyed and care free, or disappointed and frustrated. But Jack hadn’t seen him angry yet, and man it was something; A cold burning rage that tensed his square jaw and made those baby blues of his feel like winter in the arctic.

“You’re in my way,” Mac nodded over Jack’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m in your way on purpose,” Jack replied, instinctually sticking his chest out and crossing his arms over it.

“You should really move,” Mac threatened.

Jack laughed. “Is that right? You know, I may have a messed up shoulder but I could still put you down.” Why did it have to be instinct to be the toughest guy in the room? This was not going the way Jack had planned.

Mac huffed out an angry breath.

“We’re goin’ out,” Jack said simply, stepping out of the kid’s way. “Get dressed.”

“The hell we are,” Mac said, tossing his bag into the corner, and trying to find something to do so he didn’t have to look at Jack. He tossed the few bits of clothing from the floor into the hamper, and then started opening and closing drawers as though he was looking for something.

“Come on man,” Jack pleaded, losing the machismo. “I’m a total idiot alright? Let’s just do this. Couple beers. Some karaoke. It’ll be great.”

Mac’s anger immediately switched to confusion when he turned toward Jack and abandoned his fake drawer search. “Did you just say karaoke?”

“Hell yeah I did,” Jack replied, leaning casually against the door frame. “I’m the karaoke champ around these parts. Hell I’m the champ in four states.”

“We’ll see about that,” Mac replied.

And as easily as that, it seemed, things were headed Jack’s way again.

 

 

After a passable duet of Push It, Jack and Mac returned to their table and took up their beers.

“Gotta say, I’m glad you didn’t kill that one,” Jack admitted, “it’s one of my favourites.”

Mac just smiled and took a sip from the bottle he’d been nursing for the last forty minutes.

“Long night last night eh?” Jack asked, tipping his beer toward Mac’s. “You’re takin’ it pretty slow on that brew?”

Mac shook his head. “It was definitely a long night,” he sighed, “I don’t usually drink that much. Guess I let something get under my skin.” The last words were clipped, but he said them with a smile.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jack said dismissively. “I gotta tell you now that I reserve the right to be an asshole. I’m pretty good at it, and it’s a hard habit to break.”

“So, he admits it,” Mac said aloud, surprised.

“Listen up Mac,” Jack said, “if we’re gonna be friends, you and me, we gotta be on the same page man.”

“Who says we have to be friends?” Mac asked, soberly.

“I do,” Jack said. “I ain’t gonna pass over a guy who can harmonize Push It with me on the first go round!” He shot Mac a wink.

Mac smiled and looked down at his drink. In the dark bar it was hard to tell, but Jack thought the rookie might even have blushed a little. His pops once told him that a man who couldn’t take a compliment well was usually a good, honest man. The best kind of friend to have.

“Seriously though,” Jack said. “If we’re gonna do this, we gotta be in on it together man.”

“In on what?” Mac’s face was serious again.

“This whole makin’ a sports star outta you,” Jack replied. “I can’t do it by myself. And if we don’t pull it off we’re both out.”

“What do you mean ‘we’re both out?’” Mac asked, genuinely confused.

“I’m guessing you didn’t hear the entire conversation I had with Thornton yesterday.”

“Nope. I just caught the tail end,” Mac was focused on the tabletop again.

“The gist of the whole thing is that, if we can’t make this happen, I’m out,” Jack said. “My contract is up this year. They won’t renew.”

To his credit, Mac looked actually upset and outraged as he slammed his bottle to the table and started waving his hands around angrily. “They can’t do that! You’re the best player on the team!”

Jack laughed so hard he had to sit back in his seat to catch his breath. “Mac, I haven’t been the best player on this team in years,” he said finally. And then the tiredness he felt filled up his voice. “I used to be a big name, but I’m fadin’ away.”

“That’s not true!” Mac said passionately.

Jack smiled, and felt it tinted with sadness. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I know it. The vultures are circling.”

Mac tried to speak again, but Jack stopped him and spoke instead, trying to break the heaviness and self pity building around him like a dangerous crackling lightning storm. “It’s all good. Let’s just do this thing here, and then we don’t have to worry about it, alright?”

Mac nodded, but it was solemn, as though he didn’t think what Jack was asking of him were possible.

 

 

A few more beers down the line they headed back to the player’s hotel, and were stumbling down the hallway to their place, arms around each other’s shoulders, singing Enter Sandman when Jack noticed someone sitting next to their door and stopped dead in his tracks. Mac didn’t stop in time and fell forward, but Jack caught him and put him back on his feet.

The girl from the night before stood up, and straightened the skirt she was wearing. The skirt that showed way too much of that delicious skin.

“Hi,” she said, frowning and looking down at her hands nervously. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to… Your friend Wilt let me in. Said I could wait for you out here.”

Jack almost asked who Wilt was, and then remembered Bozer’s first name.

“Well he is surely gonna get an earful from me on makin’ a lady wait out in the hall,” Jack said loudly enough he hoped Bozer could hear it.

The girl smiled at Jack briefly, but then turned those big round eyes back to Mac. Who looked like he had sobered up immediately.

“I just…” She looked at her hands again. “Couldn’t get you outta my head.” A sly peek up through the wavy curtain of her long golden hair.

Mac started to stammer and look at Jack like he needed help. “I… uh… That’s… nice. It’s… um… been a long… night though?” He said the last to Jack as a question.

“Oh,” the girl said. “I shouldn’t have…”

Jack held up a hand to silence her. “Can you just hold on there a second sweetheart?” Jack asked. “While I have a chat with my friend over here?”

The girl smiled, dimples speckling her cheeks, and nodded.

Jack pushed Mac back down the hallway until they were out of earshot, but whispered anyway. “What is the matter with you man?” He asked, glancing back toward the girl. “That girl is a bombshell. The bombshell of bombshells.”

Mac looked from Jack, back to the girl, and then back to Jack, his eyes wide like a deer stuck in headlights. Even in the minors it was easy for players to get tail, surely Mac wasn’t that unexperienced. Maybe he wasn’t used to having a roommate?

“Don’t worry about me,” Jack said, “I could sleep through the end of the world.” He lowered his voice even more. “I once had this roommate that would bring home, like, two girls a night. Different girls all the time. More than a few’a them gals had a set’a pipes on ‘em, if you know what I mean.”

Mac’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not leaving much room for interpretation.”

“So what’s the issue?” Jack said. “I’ll scamper right off to my room and you can have the place to yourself. Better yet, I’ll stay with Bozer tonight. He won’t mind. He’s got some filly in LA, so he isn’t bringin’ any ladies home. So he says.”

Mac looked like a kid at an eighth grade dance. Scared as all get out.

“Alright, this discussion is over,” Jack said. “She is definitely staying the night.”

Mac took a steadying breath as Jack put an arm around him and led him back toward the girl. What the hell was her name again? Allison? Amber?

“You got anything stronger than beer kicking around?” Mac asked under his breath.

“Cupboard above the fridge,” Jack whispered. “Don’t know why you’d need it though.”

“Help us both relax a bit,” Mac said.

“He’s all yours darlin’,” Jack said as he all but threw Mac at her. “I just gotta grab a few things and I’ll be outta your hair.”

The girl smiled wide, and put a hand to Mac’s shoulder. The rookie actually flinched when she touched him, but Jack didn’t say a word. 

He opened their place, grabbed his favourite pillow, his blanket and his alarm clock, and walked down the hall to Bozer’s.

“What the hell do you want?” Bozer asked when he opened the door.

“Mac’s got some company,” Jack said lewdly, raising his eyebrows. “You don’t mind if I crash, right?”

“Oh yeah, that Alice girl showed up here about an hour ago,” Bozer said, stepping aside so Jack could wander in and set up shop in the empty second bedroom. “I tried to scare her off, but she was pretty insistent.”

“Scare her off?” Jack asked. “Why the hell would you want to do that? I thought you and Mac were friends.”

Bozer smirked. “I told you: She isn’t his type.” But he didn’t say more.

“One day you’re gonna spell out for me what that means,” Jack said, “but right now I’m tired and my alarm is gonna go off in about six hours.”


	7. And Then There Were Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack helps Mac work through his problems, and pushes him toward Alice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made Jack 43 in this story... I know I should have said that closer to the beginning of this thing... I'll add it to the notes there too... but I needed a realistic age for the sport.

Home plate. That little pentagon of white rubber buried in the dirt.

Every ballpark ever built has one focus, one single point of interest that the entirety of the crowd and players are pointed toward: Home. When you stand in that place, at that point, each and every player on both sides is watching you; The entire crowd is waiting for you; The pitcher’s entire being is intent on only you.

Jack didn’t say any of that to Mac when they stood together at home plate in the empty ballpark. But they stood there shoulder to shoulder and looked out at the empty park in front of them. Just the two of them.

Jack, all quiet seriousness, looked over at Mac. The rookie gazed out at the stands, the perfectly kept grass, the painted lines and he almost glowed. There it was again, that spark that everyone saw in the kid. He had this strange beauty to him: innocence and strength all wrapped up together in a golden package.

“Do you remember the first time you hit a baseball?” Jack asked.

Mac shook his head.

Jack smiled. “Me neither. Been doin’ it so long I can barely remember when I didn’t do it.”

“My dad took me to games when I was a kid,” Mac said, without prompting. “We used to go with my grand father. He was a big Dodgers fan.”

Jack let the kid keep going, didn’t interrupt, just watched him. He’d hoped to stir up some kind of childhood memory. Something to bring the kid back to the time when he didn’t overthink baseball, just wanted to hit home runs like the pros, like his heroes.

“I remember my grandfather talking about these guys he grew up watching: Sandy Koufax and Don Drysdale,” Mac said. “He talked about them with this reverence. It was like going to the ballpark was his church. I never saw him talk about anyone or anything like that. Ever. Nothing was more sacred. So I always played.”

Mac squinted into the sunlight while he told the story, didn’t look over at Jack. There was a hint of sadness in his face that came along with talking about his grand father in the past tense. Jack understood that tense, he used it for his father now.

“And then when college came around, I was offered a baseball scholarship at USC or early admittance to MIT with no baseball. I picked USC. I picked baseball,” Mac paused and looked down at his feet kicking up dust around the plate. “My dad didn’t like that so much. But he was never really around, my grand father raised me. So I didn’t put much stock in my dad’s opinion.”

“What about your grandpa? What did he want you to do?” Jack asked, unable to keep quiet.

Mac looked over at Jack, the past-tense sadness filling his features. “He was already gone. But I know it’s what he would have wanted.”

Jack just nodded.

“And now I’m here,” Mac said, holding his arms out to encompass the park. The next he said quieter, almost like he didn’t want Jack to hear. “I can’t fail him.”

The first problem was the kid’s brain working too hard during his at bat. Now Jack knew the second problem: Mac felt like he had something to prove to his father, and something to achieve on behalf of his grand father. It didn’t seem like it, but that was a heck of a lot of baggage to sort through.

“Alright boys,” Bozer’s shoes scratched the dirt as he walked onto the field behind them. “Whatcho got today?”

Jack handed Mac a bat, and stepped back.

Mac gave himself a few perfect practice swings and then settled in to wait for Boze’s pitch.

Jack was getting good at pinpointing the moment Bozer’s windup started from the look on Mac’s face. That shift of concentration from what is, to what might be.

“Quit overthinking it Mac,” Jack yelled at him after the first pitch. His first strategy was to wind Mac up enough to get him pissed off. The brain doesn’t quite work the same when you’re pissed off, it tends to turn more toward instinct. “Shut that big brain’a yours off already.” Taunt after taunt, pitch after pitch. “Come on! You swung at that about five minutes too late!” Fastball. “Bozer’s not even givin’ you the real heat yet.” Slider. “At 90 miles per hour you got no time to think about it, just swing!” Cutter. “My eight year old niece coulda hit that one!”

“Why don’t you get up here and do it then!” Mac yelled, whipping the bat in Jack’s general direction.

Jack side-stepped the thrown bat easily, grabbed another one and walked up to the plate. “Let me show you how it’s done,” he said cockily.

Mac moped off to lean against the fence.

“Don’t you go easy on me Boze!” Jack called out, his voice echoing across the empty field.

Jack dug his feet into the dirt like a bull ready to charge, he squared up and lifted the bat over his shoulder, circling it a little to keep his muscles ready. His focus became sharp and Bozer was the only thing in the whole world. Just the pitcher, and the ball.

The wind up. And then everything existed in that one moment. Less than half a second for a baseball to travel from the pitcher to home plate. Less than half a second to make the decision to swing or not. Swing or hesitate. Each and every pitch Jack was every faced with was a split second decision, and in that moment he had to be committed one hundred percent to that decision.

Jack tensed every muscle, from his toes to the tips of his fingers and turned his body all at once. The force that travelled all the way up from his feet, through his hips, into his shoulders, all rallied behind the bat and hit the ball with enough force to make that perfect cracking sound that sent the ball hurtling to right field.

Every single hit was a drug for Jack Dalton. Even when there was no crowd to watch and cheer he was exhilarated by the contact of ash with cowhide. The sound of it. The vibration travelling back through his arms from the bat. The release of the followthrough. It was better than sex.

Jack squared up again, and hit the next five in a row. Contrary to his request, Boze was going easy on him. But Jack didn’t mind. It was helping him make his point.

“Alright, what’s your point, show off?” Mac asked sulkily from the fence.

Jack was pulled from the reverie that was hitting back to the problem at hand.

“My point?” Jack asked, putting a hand up to stay the next pitch. “Is that you’re doin’ too much thinkin’. I’m a big dumb idiot with a stick tryin’ to hit a ball. It doesn’t get much more simple than that.”

Mac huffed.

“Again,” Jack said, stepping away and letting Mac come back to the plate.

Different strategy. Maybe distraction would help him shut down his mind.

Mac got into position and that calm determined look took over his face again. Just as Boze was about to start his windup, Jack started talking.

“See now, when I was a kid I just loved the game,” Jack said, “we didn’t live near any big ballparks. No big teams to go watch. So I’d watch my dad play with his buddies.”

Bozer let one fly, and Mac’s face changed, but not quite the same way as before. There was less frustration in it.

“And damned if my pop wasn’t the best player on that little team,” Jack continued. “I don’t even remember the first time I watched him play. But I remember always wanting to play just like him.”

Another pitch. Mac took a swipe at it, and it was clumsy, not the strong swing Jack knew he was capable of.

“And he wasn’t even a great player. I know that now. But when I was a kid he was the greatest. Babe Ruth who? Joe DiMaggio? They were amateurs compared to my old man.”

Fastball. Mac missed, but he didn’t look confused anymore. His face didn’t break from stern concentration.

“They would these tournaments and as a kid I would just sit and watch for hours and hours on end. Play after play, completely mesmerized by this team of old guys just having fun.”

Slider. A good strong swing. Tapped back into the seats. Foul. Getting there. Maybe they were onto something.

“You know, at the big season ender, they even had a keg at third base? And if you got all the way around to third they’d pour you a beer while you waited for the next batter up.”

Fastball. A beautiful swing. Just like watching Mac hit in the cages. His arms came around like there was no effort involved, his whole body was an instrument. The bat connected and sent the ball soaring over the centre field fence.

Jack fell silent, watched the ball fly, and smiled.

Boze kept pitching, and Jack stayed quiet, afraid to speak and break whatever they’d somehow fixed in Mac’s head. Mac hit the first two pitches, one into centre field, one into right. The next three he ticked foul. The fourth one he missed altogether, and then that confused look was back on his face again.

“Hey Jack!” Bozer called out from the mound. “Did they really have a keg at third?” Bozer had heard the stories a thousand times, all the Firebirds had. Jack talked about his pops more often than not. Since his dad had died all he had was the team to talk to, and all the best stories were about his old man. Boze had heard that keg story about a million times, no way he needed clarification.

“Sure did. I snuck a sip off it once when I was picking up the bases at the end of the game,” Jack answered. And then he just went right on into the next story. “I remember this one time, somebody brought their dog. Sweetest dog you ever met. Some kinda retriever.”

Bozer just kept throwing baseball after baseball while Jack talked. Mac missed the first few, and then damned if he didn’t start slamming them out to the back fence again.

“So my dad hits this bomb out to left field, and this dog goes tearing after it. He beat the guys to it, slipped through the fence, and took off with that ball.”

Curveball. Crack of the bat, and another home run bounced off the seats on the second level.

Jack didn’t stop this time, just kept talking. He could do that. He was good at talking. Jack could talk all day long and never need to stop for a drink of water. “It was the only ball they had left, and they couldn’t even finish playing that damn game. And they were tied up when it happened too.”

As Jack droned on and on, stories about his dad, about his first little league game, his first major league hit, Mac just kept hitting. The rookie didn’t miss one pitch once he got into that zone, and Jack didn’t dare stop talking for fear they would lose it again. It. That magic that you could see in star players. That something, that made everyone stop and watch when a player got up to bat. It. 

Jack couldn’t wait to watch Mac in a real game. The determined look on his face would be that much more compelling when Mac bolted for first base, or stole second, or slid into home.

Soon. Soon there’d be enough guys for the pickup game, and Jack would see what Mac was really made of.

 

 

Mac’s cellphone was buzzing like a bomb ready to explode. The rookie was still in the shower, making sure his shoulders got plenty of heat after the long batting practice. Jack glanced at the phone and saw a name pop up above the text messages: Alice Hunter. She was persistent.

_I had a great time. Again?_

_I can replace ur bottle of JD._

_Hey Angus. Sry to keep bugging u. Up for drinks 2nite? Dinner?_

_I would <3 to see your room again. ;)_

_If not, no prob. Maybe tmrw?_

All from Alice Hunter. She wasn’t a subtle chick. From the look of it she’d been texting him all day and he hadn’t responded. Oh well, good for the kid: focused on his goal and not letting distractions get in the way. Though, in Jack’s experience, not getting laid was the best distraction of them all. Coming from the guy who hadn’t been laid in a few months… Several months… Almost a year. Jack resolved to push Mac toward her. So long as she wasn’t hoping to latch on. The one thing the new guys had to learn was to watch out for women who were after more than just your winning personality.

They walked back to the hotel together.

“I see you got a couple texts,” Jack said, elbowing Mac in the ribs.

Mac smiled, but looked away, turning a little red. “Were you checking my phone?” It came out as a joke, but there was a hint of accusation in it.

“Damn thing just about buzzed right off the bench,” Jack said. “That Alice is pretty persistent. I think one’a them said somethin’ about your cute butt?” Jack grinned and aimed another elbow at Mac’s ribs. This time Mac blocked it and pushed Jack playfully.

“Come on, there wasn’t anything like that,” Mac said. “She just wants to get together.”

“You’re pretty hesitant, something wrong with her? Is she a baseball groupie or something?”

There were girls who knew which bars the players favoured, knew where to find them, and stalked the players like animals. A lot of them saw a payday: get together with a famous athlete and end up a rich housewife. Or even just get a few years of nice cars, trips and expensive anniversary gifts before moving on. Baseball groupies were the worst, but they were pretty easy to spot.

“No, actually,” Mac said. “She doesn’t know a thing about baseball. Me and Boze were talking about the game at the bar and she was clueless.”

“That explains why she didn’t fall prey to my Jack Dalton charms,” Jack said. “Usually I drop my name and the girls jump all over me.”

Mac laughed, but it wasn’t meant to be cruel.

“So what’s the problem with her then?” Jack asked.

“She’s just not-”

Jack stopped dead in his tracks. “If you say that girl ain’t your type, so help me god I’ll slug you one,” he jokingly threatened.

Mac looked back at him and the frustration on his face was considerable. Like when he’d been swinging at Bozer’s pitches for half an hour and not hitting anything.

“So what if she isn’t my type?” Mac asked.

Jack put on his best man-to-man voice as they resumed their walk. “Come on Mac. Are you blind? That girl is everybody’s type. Curves like a Corvette, voice like a vixen, those blue eyes…” Jack trailed off before he started to venture into dirty talk about a girl who wasn’t his. But seriously, those legs! “Call her.”

“I…” Mac paused and looked around desperately like he was trying to find a way out of the conversation. “I really don’t think so.”

Jack punched him lightly on the arm. “Call her Mac. Come on. I will tell you right now that one of the worst things for your game is not getting some,” he said. “Just make sure she knows that you’re leavin’ town in six weeks and that it’s a temporary fun thing.”

“I’m just not a temporary fun thing kinda guy,” Mac said.

Jack put his arm around Mac’s shoulder, eliciting a smile from the rookie. “Everybody is a fun thing kinda guy,” Jack said. He reached into Mac’s pocket, grabbed his phone and shoved it into his hand. “Now get that girl on the phone! Snap her up before the rest of the guys get into town.”

 

 

Jack’s alarm rang for a second time and he rolled over to smack the clock back to sleep. 

Shortly after, he heard his phone vibrate to life on his nightstand. For only a second he ignored it, and then his brain snapped awake and he realized that if someone was calling so early it must be important. Probably his sister with bad news. He reached over and hit the too-bright green accept button and lay the phone on the side of his face over his ear.

“Hello?” Jack croaked into the phone.

“How many times have you hit your snooze button so far?” Steve asked. Jack could hear the grin in his voice. “It’s about, what, 06:10 there right now?” It was always military time with Steve. O six hundred ten. A habit he’d gotten from his military dad and had never been able to shake. “My money’s on twice.”

“Well hello stranger,” Jack said, rolling onto his back and hoping his voice was too sleepy to betray the relief at finally getting the call he’d been waiting for.

“Hey Jacky,” he heard Steve’s grin fade. “Sorry I didn’t call. Getting settled back home was a bit hectic. You know how it goes.”

Jack replied with silence.

“Come on,” the grin was back in Steve’s voice, “you know you can’t stay mad at me.”

It was true. He was like a puppy dog that peed on the carpet. One wide-eyed look and you just couldn’t stay mad.

The alarm clock buzzed in the background again and Jack shut it off for good, stumbling out of bed.

“Come on, how many times?” Steve asked.

“Twice, alright!” Jack said. “I hit snooze twice. You got it. Always so competitive. You win. You know me so damn well.” It was all bitterness and no joke.

“You don’t have to be so grumpy,” Steve replied, obviously humoured and happy to be right.

Jack wandered into the living room and fell onto the couch. In just his boxers the fabric scratched against his skin in the most irritating way, but he didn’t move.

“So, did you move everything already?” Jack asked, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes.

“Yeah,” Steve replied.

“I could have helped.”

“Naw,” Steve said. “You had to get up to Phoenix. Still recovering from that shoulder. Matty would have flown all the way to Hawaii to kick my ass if you didn’t make your recovery schedule.”

Jack chuckled. “Yeah, she would have too.”

Things had never been awkward between them before, but now it hung heavy in the air between them. Best friends for nine years and now they were parting ways over the phone. It hurt Jack more than he would have liked to admit. Of all the people in his life, he thought he’d meant more than a goodbye over the phone to Steve. It made his eyes sting with a terrible combination of anger and sadness. If he didn’t say something soon his throat would close up with grief.

“What do you want?” Jack asked.

“Listen Jacky: Thornton asked me to throw the opening pitch at the first game this year. So the fans get a chance to say goodbye and all that. Use my name for one last money grab is more like,” Steve said. “I’ll be back in town in April. I already sold my place. Wanted to know if I could crash with you. Just for a few days. We’ll go out on the town. McGarrett and Dalton, one last time.”

“For old time’s sake,” Jack echoed hollowly. He felt like he was made of jelly, sinking into the couch and fading away. “Old time’s sake” implied that the best years were done and gone. And what did he really have to show for it? His best friend didn’t even tell him he was leaving town.

“That’s the spirit!” Steve said, sounding excited. “I’ll send you my flight info.”

“Sure,” Jack said, but the line had already gone dead. Jack threw the phone onto the coffee table like a piece of trash. It slid off the other side and onto the floor. He didn’t care.

A dynamite set of curves rounded the other end of the couch and came into Jack’s view. He didn’t even have enough energy to be surprised when Alice sat down next to him and handed him a cup of coffee. Mac was nowhere in sight, probably still asleep.

“You’re a real early riser,” Jack noted as he took the cup from her. The coffee was hot and strong.

Alice was wearing a pair of loose pyjama pants, probably Mac’s, and a men’s t-shirt, also probably Mac’s. She curled her legs up underneath her on the couch, both hands wrapped around the cup in her hands, her golden hair falling around her shoulders in perfect waves.

She didn’t answer his question about her early morning tendencies, but pointed toward where the phone had flown off the coffee table. “Girlfriend?” She asked. “Ex wife?”

Jack barked a laugh. To his surprise the sharp sound and sudden movement shook loose a tear that streaked hot down his cheek. He felt his jaw shake and clenched his teeth to make it stop. He looked over at Alice and saw the pity in her eyes. He licked his lips nervously the way he did sometimes before he spoke.

“Naw,” he said. “Just an old friend.” There was that word “old” again. God, when had 43 become old? He slammed back the hot coffee hoping it would burn away the feelings eating at him from the inside.

Alice set their cups on the coffee table, slipped an arm around Jack and pulled him in for a hug. Despite Jack’s lack of apparel, there wasn’t anything sexual about it, she wasn’t making a move or inviting one. It was just comforting and he wrapped his arms around her and let her squeeze the pain away with the heat and softness of her body, stroking his buzzed hair the way his mother had done, so long ago.

Nothing needed to be said. No: thank you, or words of comfort. 

Instead when they eventually parted Alice clicked on the TV and found some old sitcom reruns they could watch without thinking or talking too much.

Mac joined them, yawning and looking like he could use another full day’s sleep. He sat on Alice’s other side, and she handed him her recently refilled cup of coffee which he sipped at greedily.

They watched MASH reruns all morning, and just like that they were their own little unit. Like a family, but with a lot left to learn about each other.


	8. Nacho Chips and Foul Balls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alice, Mac and Jack get closer, and she comes to watch Mac practice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly... not a ton, outside of character development, happens in this chapter. But I love it and just couldn't cut it out... and the character stuff is important. Please have faith and hopefully you enjoy the characters as much as I do.

A week after the call from Steve, Jack, Mac and Alice were out at the bar sharing a plate of nachos.

“I am tellin’ you that the green ones don’t taste no different from the yellow ones,” Jack argued angrily, grabbing a chip of each colour from the plate and holding them up.

“Yes they do!” Alice laughed, picking another green one from the pile. “I like the green ones better.”

“Well, they are a different kind of corn, that’s what makes them green,” Mac said, grinning at their argument, “but they’re all still just corn.”

They both stared at him for a minute. What a random piece of information for him to have bouncing around in his head.

“Well, I like the way the green ones taste better,” Alice defended herself. She daintily nibbled at her chip for only a moment before she gave up and just shoved the whole thing in her mouth.

The girl had definitely relaxed. After a few days of hanging out with Mac and Jack she had abandoned her tight club clothes and heavy makeup for a loose ponytail and jeans. It definitely seemed to make Mac more comfortable around her; One of the guys instead of an intimidating woman, though he did still act weird if she asked to stay over at the end of the night.

“Hey Jack,” Alice smiled, “don’t look now but there’s a honey at the bar eyeing you up.”

Jack shook his head. “Naw,” he said. “That’s just Dawn. What time is it? About nine? She’ll be over here in about ten minutes and offer to take me home.”

“Why don’t you take her up on it?” Alice asked with a raised eyebrow.

Mac watched the exchange with a look of amusement and curiosity on his face.

“Oh trust me, you don’t wanna take Dawn home. It may seem like a good idea at first,” Jack continued. “She’s one helluva woman. But then you get back to Dawn’s place and start… well… you know…”

Alice’s smile grew. “I think we get it,” she winked.

“And that’s about the time you find out Dawn’s got a jealous husband who gets off work about ten every night, and he comes home to find you in bed with his smokin’ hot wife,” Jack said. “It don’t end well.”

Alice started laughing and almost choked on her chip.

“Hold on,” Mac cut in, “did that actually happen?”

“Sure as peach pie. To me and a few other guys I know,” Jack said.

Mac laughed. “Serves you right, taking advantage of a married woman.”

Jack scowled. “She didn’t advertise that she was married, ok? And I was the one bein’ taken advantage of.”

“Hey sugar,” a soft, sweet, familiar voice said over Jack’s shoulder. The smell of rum followed shortly after as Dawn threw an arm over Jack and hung on for dear life. “Seems like you’re havin’ a good time over here, but we could be havin’ a better time.” That accent of hers that reminded him so much of Texas was what had won him over, not that the rest of her didn’t help.

“Hey Dawn,” Jack smiled at her. “Seems like you’re havin’ a good night all on your own. You can barely stand.”

“Oh. Jack,” she deflated immediately. “I didn’t realize it was you.” She was being pouty now, in the best possible way.

“You just mosey along little lady and find yourself another young man to give in to your wiles,” Jack said.

Dawn stumbled around the table to Mac. “What about this one? He’s mighty cute.”

“This one is taken,” Alice said with a cold smile, wrapping her arms around Mac’s shoulders.

Mac responded with an arm around Alice’s waist as he leaned into her embrace. “Sorry,” he replied.

“Well ain’t you the lucky gal, you got two stallions in the stable,” Dawn joked before she pushed off from the table and stumbled along to find another man to take home.

Mac sighed with relief and immediately released Alice’s waist, though she kept her soft hold on him.

“Get used to it,” Jack said, tipping his beer in Mac’s direction.

“What do you mean?” Mac asked warily, clinking bottles with Jack and taking a sip.

“You just wait until the rest’a the team gets here,” Jack said. “Girls will be all over you guys at the bars. Boze’ll teach you to spot the baseball groupies. Avoid them like the plague man. They're all about pregnancy scares and engagement rings. They will not let up, even if you got Alice with you.”

“Baseball groupies?” Alice laughed. “Is that a thing? Like with rockstars?”

“Oh it’s a thing,” Jack said. “They’ll be everywhere.”

“Moving on,” Mac sighed out, looking frightened. As well he should. He was about to be a 20 point buck during hunting season. The girls were gonna go crazy over a handsome mess like him.

“Ok, so what were you guys talking about before the great chip debate?” Alice asked, still picking the green chips out of the pile even if there were no toppings on them.

“We were talkin’ business, which is bad etiquette when you’re with a lady,” Jack said.

“Thanks Emily Post,” Mac smiled at him.

“No, it’s cool,” she said, waving her hand to indicate they should continue. “I find it really interesting.”

“Really?” Mac asked, his scepticism blatant, almost rude.

“Yeah really,” she said, oblivious to his disbelief. “This is a whole new world to me. Up until a week ago baseball was just the annoying game they made us play for a few weeks at the end of the school year when I was a kid.”

“Well that’s that,” Jack said, “you should come on down to the park tomorrow. Check it all out before the rest of the boys get into town.”

Alice’s face lit up, those big blue eyes getting wider and rounder, and she looked at Mac. “Can I? That’d be so fun!”

“Well you’re still off, right? Haven’t found a job yet?” Jack asked.

Alice’s story had come pouring out in the last week over morning coffees and lunches and ordered pizzas. Having lost her fancy office job due to cut backs, she’d moved back in with her mother and was currently out of work but adamantly looking. The night she’d met Mac, her friends had taken her out to mourn the loss of her job and help cheer her up. Little had she known just how much cheering up she’d get when she ended up in Mac’s arms.

Mac’s face was tense, and he was shooting Jack a cold steely glare that maybe Jack could have read if they’d known each other longer. He was sure it was something along the lines of: what are you doing? But Jack never tried to guess the words when he didn’t know the language.

“I am still free,” Alice said, excited. “My next interview isn’t until Thursday.”

“It’s settled then,” Jack said, finishing his beer and waving at the waitress for another.

 

 

Jack leaned against the fence behind home plate and watched Mac drive ball after ball into the outfield. Per the usual, Jack was droning on and on, anything he could think to say while Mac was at bat. It seemed to be the only way the kid could focus, with Jack’s mouth flapping in the background. After a week, Jack was starting to run out of things to talk about. Mac knew his whole life story now. They definitely needed to find a solution to Mac’s problem quick. A solution that didn’t involve Jack babysitting him from the dugout; The rest of the team would never let either of them live that down.

Alice sat back just behind Jack in the stands, eyes only for Mac, all doe-eyed focus and lazy beauty.

“So Steve steals all of Diaz’s gear out of the clubhouse and hides it,” Jack continued the story he was telling. “And Diaz gets so mad, and he knows Steve’s done it, that he takes out Steve’s spare gear and throws it on. Steve thought it was so funny he wouldn’t tell him where he’d hid it. Diaz comes out and plays the game wearing McGarrett’s stuff all night. Should’a heard the announcers. They were as turned around as a pig in a hurricane.”

“Dalton!” Thornton’s voice barked from behind him. Coach had just come out of the Home team dugout.

“Hey coach,” Jack said casually, glancing back toward Mac whose stance stiffened immediately. Don’t do that, don’t let coach get to you.

Bozer looked questioningly at Jack. Jack knew the pitcher well enough to read that look: keep going, or take a break? Jack nodded he should continue to throw.

“‘Sup coach?” Jack asked, leaning back against the fence.

Mac continued to hit, though they were starting to stray foul. Jack willed the kid to hang on. Thornton would only hang out for a few minutes before he’d head back inside like the blood sucking vampire he was.

“Looking good,” Thornton actually sounded a little impressed. To anyone that didn’t know the man, you’d never guess it, but Jack had known Pat Thornton a long time and he could hear the positivity swimming just under the bitter surface. “How’d you fix him?” Like the kid was a machine that just needed repairs.

Mac nicked the next three and they flew back into the seats.

“There is a tiny hiccup,” Jack said, trying not to cringe as he said it and failing miserably.

“What hiccup?” Thornton growled.

Mac missed the next six pitches.

“He needs…” Jack glanced back at Alice, but she wasn’t listening to him, her eyes were intent on her handsome catch. “Well, let’s just say he needs moral support while he’s hitting.”

“Jack, stop trying to sugar coat it, you’re doing it really badly. Just tell me.”

Jack sighed and let the fence take more of his weight. “Seems the only way he can hit is if I’m chattin’ his ear off,” he admitted. “Best I can figure: he needs the white noise to distract him so he stops thinkin’.”

Thornton’s voice went low and dangerous. “That’s not a tiny hiccup Jack, that’s a monster problem.”

“Now, now, now, hear me out,” Jack said. “I’m thinkin’ that the noise in the park during a game will do the trick.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Thornton asked.

“I’m plannin’ to cross that bridge when it comes up on me,” Jack replied.

“There’s a lot riding on this kid Jack, we can’t just fly by the seat of our pants.”

Jack shrugged. “You asked me to do this, and flyin’ by the seat’a my pants is what I do best. It’s the Jack Dalton way.”

Thornton sighed. “You know what’s at stake. For both of you. So I’m trusting you on this one Jack. But the owners are on my ass about this one.” Ah. The elusive owners had some kinda stake in the rookie too. That explained the pressure.

Jack just nodded in return and continued to watch Mac miss pitch after pitch, occasionally fouling one back into the seats. Jack did his best not to look worried.

Thornton started to walk away but stopped halfway to the dugout. “Hey Jack! You still want to do the pickup game this year?”

Jack’s face crinkled up in confusion. He wasn’t sure if it was a trick question or not. Why wouldn’t they do the pickup game? “‘Course! It’s tradition!”

“Alright, well since McGarrett’s gone you’re organizing it!” Thornton called back before he ducked out of the sun.

The moment Thornton was out of sight Mac angrily threw his bat toward the Visitors dugout and walked off into the outfield. He didn’t look back.

“Clear your schedule Ali,” Jack used his nickname for Alice and didn’t look back at her, “I’m pretty sure we’re gettin’ drunk tonight.”

 

 

Jack sat down in the grass next to Mac, who was laying in the outfield, eyes closed against the sun. His golden hair was longer than most guys kept it, and spread out in the turf catching the light, like a little halo. How the guy had been in baseball for so long and not gotten a tan baffled Jack; His skin was perfect pale porcelain white, with the exception of a birthmark just under his jaw on the right side. Him and Alice made a great looking couple: all blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin, and beauty. But where she was all soft curves, Mac was hard corners: high cheekbones and sharp jaw. Jack had left the girl sitting behind home plate consumed by her phone while he’d come out to talk to Mac.

“I’m guessin’ you overheard coach,” Jack said, looking out toward the stands.

Mac made a noise that sounded like an affirmative, but with a growl at the end.

“Look man, we gotta figure this out,” Jack said. “Much as I hate to admit it, Thornton’s right. What we got happenin’ right now ain’t a solution.”

“You don’t think I know that?” Mac asked, pushing up on his elbows and looking at Jack. That cold icy anger filled his big blues again.

Jack nodded. “Just calm your britches,” he held out a hand to imply the rookie should simmer down. “We been dancin’ in circles and you know it.” He tried to firm his voice up a little, put some of that coach authority in it. “Use that big brain’a yours to work it out. You got all this info about nacho chips up there, I think you’ve got a solution to this too.”

Mac fell back into the grass and put his ball cap over his face to block the sun. When he spoke his voice was muffled by the fabric in the way. “I’ve thought and thought and thought about it,” he whined. “It’s all I can think about.”

Jack sighed, Mac’s frustration contaminating him. “It’s too damn hot out here for this,” Jack said.

But neither of them moved. They just sat there, close to each other in companionable silence.

Finally Mac spoke up, peeking out from under the edge of his ball cap. “What’s with the pickup game?” His voice was calm again, the frantic anger gone.

Jack looked off into the distance, squinting against the bright day. “Me and Steve started it years ago,” he said. “We’d come down early for spring training, and when the guys started to filter in we’d wait until we had enough and we’d play a pickup game. Like when we were all kids. Somethin’ fun to start the year off.” Why did everything always have to come back to Steve? It seemed like everything in his life was tainted by the guy. If he’d finished things off right it wouldn’t have been so bad, but now it just made everything hurt. Like there was a hole in Jack’s chest that he wasn’t sure how to fill. Maybe liquor would do the trick.

“Get up,” Jack commanded, jumping to his feet. “We’re gettin’ drunk.”

Mac pulled the hat off his face, revealing his shock. “It’s, like, 3 PM.”

Jack offered Mac his hand. “Sometimes you just gotta get drunk at 3 in the afternoon. Get up.”

 

 

Jack and Mac sat next to each other on the counter of the Circle K Convenience store sharing a bag of Cheetos while they watched Bozer dress his hotdog.

The harsh fluorescent lights were a sharp contrast to the 2 AM darkness outside. It had been a long liquor-filled day.

“Has he always been this way?” Jack asked drunkenly, motioning toward Bozer. He sipped at a styrofoam cup of coffee that was so acidic he thought it might melt right through his stomach.

“Yup,” Mac replied, swaying on the counter and occasionally bumping into Jack. “Long as I known him.”

Bozer was buzzing around the condiment counter, spraying mustard and ketchup this way and that like he was painting a Picasso.

“Wait, where’d Ali go?” Jack asked, perking up and looking around like a prairie dog, suddenly aware the girl wasn’t with them.

Mac laughed and doubled over before he sat back up and smacked Jack across the arm. “Passed out in the cab,” he said. “Remember? You paid him a hundred bucks to wait for us.”

Jack started to giggle and put an arm around Mac spilling orange Cheeto crumbs everywhere. “Right, right, right,” he said. “She just couldn’t keep up with the studs. You ain’t gettin’ none tonight my man.”

Mac muttered something under his breath that might have been “thank god,” but Jack didn’t hear it clearly enough to be sure.

“Now… now…” Jack trailed off and forgot what he was going to say, so he took another sip of coffee.

“Now what?” Mac asked, plucking the cup from Jack’s fingers and taking a sip himself.

“Careful, don’t wanna get my cooties,” Jack snickered.

Mac laughed and leaned into him, handing the cup back. “You’re such a mess around our room I p’rolly had your cooties in the first hour man.”

Jack laughed along with his roommate and then his laughter died abruptly, and he hugged Mac a little closer and leaned in conspiratorially. “Really though man, you gotta lay it on me,” he said, trying to slur his words as little as possible so he sounded reasonable and intelligent. “Wha’s wrong with Alice? Come on, she’s a prize beauty man. Bozer just keeps sayin’ she ain’t your type. I don’t get it. Wha’s wrong with ‘er?”

Mac took the coffee cup and gulped another sip before he started trying to answer. “Look. Look here. Just look. It’s like. Look…” Mac just kept repeating himself over and over, obviously trying to get his thoughts together. He leaned in a little more, his head almost on Jack’s shoulder, and put his arm around Jack’s back. “It’s like… don’t you ever…” Then his voice changed to frustration and more than a little anger. “Why is this always so fucking difficult?” He asked to no one in particular.

Bozer walked back over to where they sat. “Alright guys, almost done,” he said. “Just one more layer of nacho cheese and then we’re outta here.” He looked from one to the other of them and then asked drunkenly: “Wait, where’s Alice?”

Jack and Mac fully collapsed onto each other as they burst into laughter and forgot what they were talking about.


	9. The Pickup Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the team rolls into town and they get together enough guys for the pickup game. Mac gets along great with most of the guys, but there's one pitcher who gets under his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SOOOO much Nevcolleil and N1ghtshade for beta reading for me!!! Suggestions and help galore!
> 
> This chapter's a long one... but it needs to be so deal with it. ;)

The rest of the team started to hit town, and the signup list for the pickup game quickly filled up. Jack, Mac and Bozer at the top, then Colton, Cage, Acosta, the list grew longer every day. Jack couldn’t wait until they had a full eighteen names to get a game going.

Mac and Jack were on the field for early batting practice with Bozer when trouble rolled into town. Jack felt it like a cold breeze as soon as the guy stepped out of the dugout. The chill up his spine made him stop the constant babbling that Mac needed to hit, and turn to watch the guy approach.

Murdoc walked across the dirt, a creepy smile on his face. “Jack,” he said, the smile he wore did not travel up to his black eyes. “I should have known you’d be out here early.”

Most of the time players called everyone by their last names. It was the way it was always done. Sometimes, when guys got close and made friends off the field they’d call each other by their first names, but generally it was a last names environment. Murdoc only used everyone’s first names, no exception, which only added to his creepiness. To top it all off he wouldn’t tell anyone his own first name. All of his stats read Murdoc only, like he was Cher or Madonna or something. The guy was a total wierdo. Jack had never been shy about his dislike for the man.

One of their closers, Murdoc had been with the Firebirds less than a year, which was pretty standard throughout his career. Even though he was good, nobody ever seemed to want to keep him around long. Jack understood, the dude was unsettling as hell and screwed up team morale with his creepy ways.

“Somethin’ you want Murdoc?” Jack asked, continuing to watch Mac, not meeting Murdoc's eye. He was being fairly polite compared to his usual attitude toward the guy. Once he realized that he’d been too nice he spit in the dirt at Murdoc’s feet.

“No, no, not at all,” Murdoc said, kicking dirt over the wad of phlegm. “I heard the rookie was out here swinging away and I wanted to come see what all the… fuss was about.” He said the last few words like he was talking about a fine meal: a t-bone or some caviar. “You know, I’m sure Wilt could use a break. I could offer my services and throw a few.”

“Naw, we’re good,” Jack replied. “You just mosey along now.”

Mac was starting to miss pitches again. Without Jack’s constant droning he just couldn’t keep his head from interfering with his bat. God they needed to get that figured out. Damned if Jack knew how.

Jack noticed when he got into the clubhouse later that Murdoc had signed up for the pickup game. He wanted to crumple the list up and tell everybody the game was cancelled. He felt it in his bones: Murdoc was going to ruin the whole thing.

 

 

A small crowd gathered in the stands to watch the pickup game: Alice sat by herself right up front, Thornton snuck into the press box, Matty sat with the rest of the players who had arrived but had no interest in the playing. Most pitchers usually opted out to avoid unnecessary injury to their precious arms. Despite being pitchers, Bozer and Murdoc had both signed up, confidant in their bodies and young enough to throw caution to the wind for a little fun.

Any baseball team Jack ever belonged to was like high school; There were different cliques and groups of friends. Generally everybody had to get along because they were all playing for the same team, but some people were closer than others. Some guys hung out after the games, got to know each other’s families, spent holidays together, used those elusive first names. Jack thought of them like a second family. And luckily all of his Firebird family had made it in time for the game.

Jack captained the first team, and Murdoc was picked captain for the second, the job that Steve normally would have taken. They picked teams like they were kids again: milling around home plate, the captains standing apart and alternating choices, calling their picks over the din like they were on a playground. Jack just hoped that Murdoc wouldn’t split up all his friends; The point of the pickup game was to gather the guys together and whoop some ass. Jack couldn’t do that if they were on different teams.

The coin flip went in Jack’s favour and he picked Mac first. No sense splitting up from the kid, especially not with Murdoc as captain of the other team. The guy would pick the rookie apart and try to figure out what made him tick. Something that definitely wouldn’t help the progress they’d been making. Not that they’d made much. Jack’s instincts rewarded him when Murdoc looked more than a little frustrated that Mac was off the table.

The picks went back and forth until the teams were full. Jack was surprised that Murdoc had let him keep all his friends on one team:

Naturally he’d taken Bozer. Murdoc had passed him over, having no need for a second pitcher.

Billy Colton was next, one of the meanest looking sumbitches in the game, built like a brick shit-house and with attitude to spare. A great hitter, decent defensively, and fan favourite.

Mark Cage was a fast little bugger. He didn’t look like much, all skin and bones, and elbows and knees. The first time Jack saw him he thought somebody’d taken a scarecrow out of a corn field and put him at short stop. But man could he move.

When Carlos Acotsa played baseball, you’d swear it was life or death. Until he walked away from a play, and then his face lit up with the happy-go-luckiest smile you’d ever see. Each and every at bat was a serious affair, until he landed on a base and then his laughter would fill up the ballpark.

The Fernandes brothers couldn’t be more opposite. Marco was huge with a barrelled chest. The designated hitter for their team he didn’t play the field but could hit home runs for days. Jack wondered if that wasn’t why he always signed up for the pickup game: a change to finally play a full game. Julio was half the size of his brother, but still a formidable dude. He was a good utility player, and could do just about anything. Other than Cage there wasn’t a faster base runner than Julio. The brothers were good guys, but Jack didn’t really spend much time with them off the field, owing to the fact that they had come from Venezuela, only spoke Portuguese, and needed a translator to talk to anybody.

Last but not least was Charlie Robinson. He’d been acquired by the Firebirds the day of the trade deadline the previous season. They’d traded away a younger player and picked up Robinson, a veteran outfielder who’d been in the game longer than Jack. But he just couldn’t quit. Jack didn’t know him well, but he couldn’t fault the attitude of someone whose routine reply to “why don’t you retire?” in interviews was: “I’m gonna play until they make me stop.”

Murdoc’s team consisted of a few rookies they’d called up the previous year, and the small group of guys Murdoc had made friends with in his brief stint on the team. Adler was the only real threat. 

Sean Adler and Jack went way back. They’d played in Chicago together years before, and had been good friends for a while, until Sean showed his true colours. Jack didn’t like to think about it, but they’d never be friends again, that was for sure. When Murdoc picked Adler, Jack heaved a sigh of relief.

With the batting orders set, and the teams all squared away, they started the game.

Jack stepped up to first base and back in time. He was a kid again. He looked out a field full of guys in mismatched clothes, no uniforms in sight, some playing positions they were unsure of, and he took a deep breath of nostalgia. It tasted like freshly cut grass, wind full of dusty dirt, and the leather of his old worn glove.

Immediately the chatter started up. It was one of the things they weren’t allowed to do during the regular season that Jack relished about the pickup game.

“Come on Boze! You got this!” Colton yelled from third base.

“Three up, three down!” Cage called out from left field.

The Fernandes brothers yelled out phrases in Portuguese that only they understood. But it was the thought that counted.

“A’right boys, let’s do this!” Jack added his voice to the din.

Like that, they went around and around, insulting the different players that came up to bat, encouraging each other, praising good plays. Generally just trying to get a rise out of everybody, good or bad.

Bozer didn’t disappoint, pitching a no-hitter for the top of the first, bringing them in to bat.

Mac’s first shot at the plate went off without a hitch. Jack was just behind him in the batting order, on purpose, so Jack could sit there and talk his ear off just before he headed up to bat. Somehow the rookie took it with him for those few minutes until he got a pitch he liked and sent it out into left field for a solid single.

And then Jack was up. He settled into the batter’s box, the rest of the world falling away. Murdoc glared at him from the mound, and Adler taunted him from behind the plate.

“You still got it in you?” Adler barked from where he crouched, ready to catch Murdoc’s pitch. “Old man?”

“Says the guy who’s damn near the same age as me,” Jack said.

“I got no delusions about what I am,” Adler replied. “An aging player whose days are numbered.”

Jack was just about to reply when a fastball whipped past him. It was a perfect pitch to hit over the fence. He chastised himself for letting Adler get into his head. Instead he set his sights on a run. He ignored the catcher and just let himself focus on the ball and his bat. He followed Murdoc’s eye to first base where Mac was leading off, taking tiny step after tiny step toward second base. And suddenly more than anything he wanted to get that rookie back home.

Next pitch was low, but Jack reached out and scooped it up, connecting hard and sending the ball out into the stands in right field.

What better way to start a game than a home run?

Rounding the bases slowly and dramatically, Jack made a comment to each fielder on the way by. “Did you see that hit? Must’a gone 400 yards.” And: “A start like that? You guys are losin’ for sure.” The childhood phrases came back to his lips so easily it felt like yesterday that he’d taunted Tommy Perkins and the boys from across town at the overgrown park he’d grown up near.

The rookie waited for him back at the beginning. “Who loves you baby!” Jack yelled when he high-fived Mac as he crossed home plate.

Mac got along with the guys immediately, and they fell into the rhythm of a good well-oiled team. In the field the kid was fantastic. His instincts were bang on, and he had speed and accuracy. In the third he gauged a hit just right, ran in and slid to catch it coming up in a crouch to make a spectacular throw all the way to home for an out. At which point Matty yelled from the stands: “Don’t strain yourself for a game that doesn’t matter!”

As the fourth rolled around, Acosta had already stolen three bases, his sights set on more. Jack and the boys egged Murdoc on until he didn’t know his elbow from his asshole. They yelled encouragement when Acosta had no intent to steal, and they’d give him the sign to stay when he was already running for the next base. Murdoc was turned around, pissed off, and glancing over his shoulder constantly. His pitches suffered as a result. 

But Murdoc was never good at being made a fool of, and he found a way to get even.

Mac went up to bat in the fourth, his head still full of Jack’s last bit of babble, and Murdoc started to slow down play. Jack wasn’t sure how they’d tipped their hand, but Murdoc had seen it. He went back to the rosin bag an extra time, blaming the heat of the day, his windup slowed down, he threw more off plate pitches. The result was that Mac lost whatever he was holding on to when he walked away from Jack, and he couldn’t hit the broadside of the Titanic.

Mac struck out and headed for the dugout visibly frustrated.

“That’s too bad Angus,” Murdoc called after him. “Maybe next time around, if you ask nicely and say your pleases and thank yous, I’ll go easy on you.”

“Don’t let him get to you,” Jack advised as they passed on his way to the plate.

Mac obviously didn’t listen because Jack heard his bat hit the fence in front of the dugout with full force.

Murdoc was smiling that creepy-ass smile of his when Jack got up to face him.

“Come on Dalton!” The boys were yelling from the dugout. “All the way around!”

Two out. Colton waited at third.

Jack clocked the first pitch into a hole in right field for a single that got Colton home.

While Jack waited for the next batter up, he let his eyes roam the stands. Alice was leaned back in her chair, eyes intent on her cellphone. Looked like she really didn’t have any interest in the game, just in Mac. Matty lounged with the other players, watching carefully for injuries, and calling out encouragement once in a while. Thornton was hunched over in the press box, body language impossible to read, face too far away to see.

Leading off from first Jack watched as Cage popped up to the infield. The inning was over. But they were up 5-2.

The next few innings flew by. A few hits, but no runs in for either team. Until the bottom of the eighth rolled around.

Mac had struck out again, his frustration growing with every inning until his face was red and his eyes burned an icy anger. Those eyes were intent on the pitcher. If Murdoc was trying to make friends he’d definitely gone about it the wrong way; The grins and comments he sent Mac’s way were a far cry from any kind of friendly. They were pure predator, playing with its food.

Jack was squared up at the plate, his shoulder still feeling good despite the long game. Just as Murdoc started his windup, Adler piped up from behind the plate. “Man your sister sure was a good time last night.”

Jack stepped back from the pitch that whizzed past him into Adler’s glove and turned toward him.

“What the hell did you say to me?” Jack asked, angry as a cat out in a rainstorm.

Adler tossed the ball easily back to Murdoc like he’d just said something about the weather, and pulled up his catcher’s mask to reveal his shit eating grin. That smart-ass look on his face boiled Jack’s blood. “Didn’t hear me cause you’re getting old, eh? I said: I had a good time with your sister. She tasted just like-”

Jack didn’t let him finish, but dropped the bat and got in a good right cross to his face.

Adler hit the dirt, his nose already leaking blood.

“The fuck is your problem Dalton?” Adler asked, scrambling to his feet, with the nerve to look angry.

The rest of Jack’s team flooded out toward them pulled him back from Adler. Mac was front and centre, arm around Jack’s middle. Murdoc strolled casually toward them from the mound whistling.

“What’s my problem?” Jack asked, surging against the boys holding him back. “What’s _my_ problem?”

“What seems to be the trouble fellas?” Murdoc asked in that irritatingly calm way that he had, a casual word like “fellas” coming out awkward and unnatural. “We _are_ all on the same team at the end of the day? Correct?” He looked from Adler’s bloody face to Jack and back again.

“You don’t talk about my sister like that you piece’a-”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Mac cut off Jack’s words. “Maybe we should just take a step back before we all say something we regret.” He stepped into Jack’s line of vision. “Alright, Jack?”

Jack nodded. Something about Mac just calmed him right down. They were just words. Adler was getting the rise out of Jack that he wanted. Mac was right: don’t give the bastard the satisfaction.

“Why don’t you go get that nose looked at Adler,” Jack snarled, saying the guy’s name the same way he would have said asshole. Then he let Mac lead him back to the dugout and out of the sun for a minute.

“You better not’a broke it!” Adler yelled back.

“Game’s almost over,” Colton said once they were in the shade. “Let’s just finish killin’ these fools and go celebrate already.”

That’s when Jack started to feel the ache in his shoulder. Connecting hard with Adler’s face had been a terrible idea. Why did instinct always have to take over and make all the bad decisions?

“God I hate that guy!” Jack barked, picking up a glove and throwing it hard against the far end of the dugout.

Mac smirked. “Why did you let him get under your skin?”

“They got history,” Colton said.

“What kind of history?” Mac asked, curious.

“Nobody knows,” Cage answered, “it’s a big secret. He won’t tell anybody.”

“Cause it’s none’a your business!” Jack said, trying to be angry, but wavering.

Cage, Colton and Acosta all looked at each other before reciting in unison: “That story’s as long as the bible and just about as old. No sense tellin’ it now.”

Jack grinned. It felt good to have a family.

“Oh Jack,” Murdoc called from the mound in a horrible sing-song voice. “Play ball.”

Jack resumed his at bat. With his shoulder aching, and his mind still out of sorts, he struck out, ending the inning.

One inning left and Jack was out for vengeance, with the backing of his crew.

Murdoc’s first batter, one of the previous year’s rookies, hit a surprise homer.

5-3 for Jack’s team, no outs. 

Then a quick pop fly, easily caught by Mac. 

5-3. 1 out.

Adler hit a single on the first pitch he saw. Bozer was starting to get tired. Major league pitchers weren’t accustomed to pitching a whole game, normally backed by an entire bullpen of guys. As a closer, Bozer was only accustomed to pitching an inning or two at most.

“You got this Boze!” Acosta encouraged from second.

Then Murdoc was up.

“This is gonna be the comeback,” Adler razzed as he led off toward second base.

Jack wished more than anything that Adler had hit a double. He didn’t even care if they lost the game for it, but standing next to the guy at first was almost more than he could stand.

“Just steal already,” Jack encouraged him, “and get the hell outta my face.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t break my nose cowboy,” Adler growled in response, taking a few steps further away from the bag.

“I’m not lucky, I’m good,” Jack replied.

Murdoc took two strikes. Then the bastard hit a grounder just past Bozer. It was headed for the outfield, but Cage came in with that freaky speed of his, grabbed it up and shovelled it to Acosta who tagged second and whipped it to Jack to make the double play. The lightning-clap sound of that baseball hitting Jack’s glove was beautiful music to his ears. The stinging tingle of the hard throw tickled his palm in the most pleasant way.

The game was over. Murdoc, the loser.

Despite Mac’s failings, Jack’s team had won, and Murdoc stalked off the field looking surly and ready for revenge. 

The guys all ran in from the outfield and converged on Bozer at the mound where they cheered like they were ten again, lifting Bozer into the air and carrying him toward the dugout.

Just a buncha big kids, feeling blessed to be doing what they loved most in the world.

Jack couldn’t have been happier.

 

 

By the time Jack and the boys flooded into the locker room in a surge of laughter, Murdoc was the only one who hadn’t hit the showers yet. Like he was waiting for them. Sitting in a chair, right leg crossed over his left knee, staring at the door with that unnerving smile on his face. Definitely waiting for them.

“Well. Jack and Angus,” Murdoc said, rolling the names around on his tongue like a super creepy lollipop. “It has a much better ring to it than Jack and Steve.”

Jack’s mood was immediately ruined, his smile faded.

“Come on Murdoc,” Acosta piped up, trying to disperse the tension, “don’t be a sore loser.”

“On the contrary Carlos,” Murdoc said, his attention diverted to Acosta. “I wanted to congratulate you fine men on your victory.” His gaze returned to Mac and Jack. “I must say, our ranks are certainly swelled by this fine new recruit who can’t seem to hit without Jack in tow.”

That did it. The happy mood they’d brought in with them following their win was shattered into tiny bits. The boys broke apart and wandered to their lockers.

Mac sat on the bench in front of his locker, and his shoulders sagged heavily. Jack cursed Murdoc in his head, and sent what he hoped was a scathing look at the pitcher.

Murdoc just raised an eyebrow, ready with another quip. “Didn’t take you long to replace good old Steve, huh Jack?”

Jack walked up to the weirdo and loomed over him, pitching his voice low so the guys wouldn’t hear. “Alright Murdoc,” he said, “you’ve done enough damage. I suggest you get outta here before I bust up your face like I did Adler’s.”

“A threat Jacky boy?” Murdoc asked, excitement lighting up his creepy eyes. He jumped up from his chair, standing just a little taller than Jack. "How droll."

Jack nodded. “You wanna play?”

Murdoc winked at him. “Perhaps another time,” he said softly before he wandered off toward the showers whistling loudly.

Jack’s locker was next to Mac’s and he sat down next to the rookie.

“Don’t listen to him,” Jack said. “Guy’s a complete freak show.”

Mac smiled at Jack, but there was sadness in it. “He really knows how to get under my skin, you know?”

Jack nodded. “I know it,” he said. “I had to play half a season with that guy last year. I can’t tell you he gets any more charming the longer you know him.”

“I’ve never met somebody who could bug me so much from the first time I met them,” Mac admitted. “He’s just so…”

The rest of the guys threw in their two cents at once: “Creepy,” they all agreed.

One by one the rest of the guys gathered their stuff and headed for the showers until it was just Jack and Mac.

“Murdoc’s not wrong,” Mac said, his shoulders still slumped in defeat despite their win.

“Do me a favour and don’t listen to a thing that guy says,” Jack said, clapping a hand on Mac’s back and leaving it there to offer comfort. He knew what it was like to feel like a failure in such a competitive environment. As a rookie every single fielding error or strike out could feel like the end of the world.

“Come on Jack,” Mac sighed. “I still can’t hit-”

Jack cut him off. “Listen Mac,” he said, reaching for something to help the kid’s enthusiasm. “The first day I watched you hit in the cages, I haven’t seen anything like that in a long time.” Now he was getting a little emotional about the whole thing, but he choked it down and manned up, like his pops would have told him to do. “Bein’ honest, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anything like that. You got somethin’ Mac. We just gotta get it workin’. Like fixin’ a broken clock, we just gotta figure out what makes ya tick.”

Mac smiled at Jack, and looked like he wanted to say something serious, but swallowed hard instead and turned back to his locker. “Just like a clock eh?” He tried to laugh but it came out strangled.

Jack smiled back and clapped Mac’s back again, his t-shirt wet with sweat from the long game out in the hot day. “You bet. We got this.”

“Dalton!” Matty’s voice rang out through the locker room, followed by the woman striding into the room with no shame whatsoever.

“Matty! Are you crazy?” Jack asked, jumping up from the bench. “This is the locker room!”

Matty walked up to him and put her hands on her hips. “I’m not stupid Dalton, and I don’t care” she said. “I didn’t want you sneaking out of here without coming to see me.”

“Come on,” Jack whined. “It’s been a long day, I just wanna go home.”

“You just wanna go out and celebrate is more like,” she sassed, “but I have to make sure you didn’t undo all of my hard work with that shoulder of yours before you go.”

“ _Your_ hard work?” Jack asked. “I’m the one’s been liftin’ all the weights.”

Matty just narrowed her eyes in response. “You’ve got ten minutes,” she said as she walked toward the door.

Colton came back in, just a towel around his waist and almost dropped it in surprise when he saw Matty. She blew right past him out the door. As soon as she was gone he whispered in Mac and Jack’s direction: “That girl’s been tryin’ to get a look at me naked for years now.”

Mac and Jack waited for Colton to pass by before they exchanged looks and collapsed against each other in quiet laughter.

 

 

“Well that was stupid,” Matty said as she heartlessly tugged and pulled at Jack’s shoulder muscles.

“Ow!” Jack complained. “I couldn’t just - ow!”

Matty raised her eyebrows at him. “Couldn’t just what?” She asked, and then just when he was about to answer she poked at the sore muscles again so he couldn’t get a word out. “Couldn’t do as you’re told? Couldn’t actually follow my instructions and let your arm heal properly? Couldn’t not break Adler’s face?”

“Come on Matty, the pickup game’s tradition, and Adler had it coming,” Jack whined.

Mac laughed from a bench in the corner where he was working with some weights while he waited for them to finish up. Jack had told him to take Alice and run on ahead; Once the real spring training started he wouldn’t have all these free nights to spend with his girl. But Mac had declined and opted to wait for Jack, sending Alice home.

“Tradition or not you won’t be playing opening day if you keep this up,” Matty warned.

Jack’s face went stony. “That ain’t funny Matty.”

Her face was stony in return. “Do I look like I’m joking Dalton?” She did not.

“Come on Matty, I’ve gotta play opening day,” Jack’s voice was headed dangerously in the direction of begging. “Steve’s comin’ back for that game. I gotta be in.”

Matty sighed. “He’s just throwing the opening pitch,” she said, still kneading at his muscles, trying to find out how bad it was based on the squawks he let out. “He’s not going to be playing in the game.”

“I don’t care Matty,” Jack said sternly. “I gotta be in that game. It’s Steve’s last real official appearance.”

Matty sighed.

“I’m gonna be in that game,” Jack warned to no one in particular.

 

 

The boys were waiting for Jack and Mac at the player’s hotel. Cage was rooming with Bozer, and Colton’s name was big enough now to warrant having his own suite. Acosta stayed with his family off site, but had hung back with the guys for a little post-game celebration.

They all met up in Jack and Mac’s room.

“How’s PT going?” Colton asked as he walked through the door, tossing Jack a beer from the six pack he’d brought with him.

Jack rolled his shoulder. “You know what it’s like, I don’t call her Matty the Hun for nothin’,” he said. “I’m gonna be sore tomorrow.”

“So, what day does spring training actually start?” Mac asked.

“Monday,” Bozer sighed. “And then you ain’t gonna have time for nothin’ ‘cept sleepin’ and baseball.”

“And sometimes not even sleeping,” Cage piped up, his Australian accent all rounded "r’s," even when he wasn’t saying words with “r” in them, like he was rolling marbles around his mouth.

“That intense huh?” Mac asked.

Acosta put an arm around his shoulder, and laughed that charming laugh of his. “You just wait rookie,” he said. His Puerto Rican accent had faded from his years in the states but it still highlighted his words. “You just wait.”

“Alright boys,” Colton said, rubbing his large hands together, “we’ve got tomorrow plus the weekend to have a good time before Thornton cracks the whip. Let’s go get us some booze and some honeys. It’s been a long winter if you know what I mean.”

Jack cracked open the beer Colton had thrown him and chugged it back quick. “I’m in!”

“We killed Murdoc today, that’s definitely worth a little celebration,” Cage said with a sly little grin. The poor kid looked underfed, his cheeks gaunt, his face all sharp corners.

“Let the ladies roll in,” Colton said, heading for the door.

Jack piped up. “Well Mac’s already got a gal of his own.” He nudged Mac with his elbow on the way by. “Is Alice joining us for the celebration?” Jack wasn’t sure why, but Mac had avoided introducing Alice to anybody at the game. Hadn’t really talked much to her at all.

Mac shrugged. “I’ll drop her a text and see,” he said without enthusiasm.

“Alright boys, let’s bounce!” Jack said.

 

 

“I never knew there would be this much drinking,” Mac complained as he leaned back against Jack’s car in the parking lot of the bar while Cage threw up on the other side of it. “I didn’t even drink this much in college.”

“There usually ain’t,” Jack said, sitting down next to him on the dewy ground of the parking lot.

“And there won’t be in a few days,” Boze said as he jumped up on the hood.

“Bozer,” Jack said coldly, “I’m gonna give you four seconds flat before I look in your direction and your dirty ass better not be planted on the hood of my Shelby Cobra or we’re gonna have words.”

Bozer promptly hopped off the hood and sat next to them on the ground.

Jack returned to the topic at hand. “Everybody’s just blowing’ off steam before the season starts,” he said. “Everybody gets back in town, hasn’t seen each other for a while…”

“Once training gets going you definitely won’t have time or energy for partying ,” Bozer added.

Mac leaned his head tiredly on Jack’s shoulder.

They watched Acosta twirl Alice around the parking lot. He was teaching her how to merengue. She was bad at it. Nobody cared, they were all too drunk. Acosta was mostly sober, but still didn’t care because they were laughing and having fun, which was always the most important thing to him. Alice continued to giggled while Acosta spun her this way and that, her blonde hair flying every which way.

Colton had found the “honey” he’d been in search of and taken a cab back to the hotel earlier in the night.

“You guys about ready to head out?” Jack asked with a yawn.

“Whatever,” Boze answered, deflated since he was going home solo.

Cage moaned from somewhere behind them.

Jack looked over to get Mac’s reply and found the kid asleep against the side of the car, his head on Jack’s shoulder.


	10. Grounded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matty steps in and causes some drama with Jack and spring training finally gets started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random baseball info - during spring training all MLB teams train in two areas: Florida and Arizona. During the 6ish weeks of spring training they play games against each other. They don't travel between states, just play the other teams in their state. These games are pre-season and do not count toward the season's stats.
> 
> Thank you SOOOO much N1ghtshade for beta reading for me! And helping me iron out some kinks in the timeline.

Jack wandered into Matty’s office on the last Friday morning before the official start of spring training. He was an hour late and more hungover than he’d been in a long time. When they’d gotten back to the hotel the night before, Mac left Alice to sleep in his room and then he and Jack had stayed up drinking into the wee hours.

“You’re late Dalton,” Matty did not look impressed. “Out celebrating your stupidity last night?”

“You got it,” he said, cringing at the sound of his own voice bouncing around his skull.

“Where’s blondie?” She asked, leaning around to look behind him. “You guys have been inseparable. I expected him to be here with you.”

“Naw,” Jack fell into a chair and closed his eyes against the stabbing light, “I let the rookie sleep it off. He’ll be busy enough come Monday. No reason for him to be up so early.”

“Apparently you didn’t see the need to be up early either,” she said, “you’re over an hour late.”

“I heard you the first time Matty,” Jack whined. “Come on. Cut a guy some slack. All the boys are finally in town, we kicked Murdoc’s ass back to Timbuktu. It’s not like it’s gonna be happenin’ again anytime soon.”

“Jack, you need to start taking your recovery more seriously,” she said, putting her hands back to his shoulder while he did his best not to fall asleep sitting up. “You’re not twenty five anymore.”

“I know, I know,” he replied.

“Do you?” She asked, prodding harder.

“Ow Matty, careful there!” Jack tried to shrink away from her, but she held on tight like a piranha.

“I don’t think you get it Jack,” she said. “When you didn’t show up this morning I had a meeting with Thornton-”

“I would’ve loved to be a fly on that wall,” Jack said under his breath.

Matty ignored him and continued. “And I told him that you’re suspended during spring training.”

Jack sat bolt upright and turned toward her. “You didn’t.”

“You left me no choice.”

Jack scowled at her. Their relationship contained lots of sharp looks and berating from Matty’s side of things, but more often than not Jack played the sweet puppy dog with her. But this, this wasn’t going to fly.

Jack jumped up from the chair and stomped toward Thornton’s office.

“You better be coming back Dalton!” Matty leaned out of the door and called after him.

 

 

Thornton wasn’t in his office, and he wasn’t in the clubhouse. After checking every nook and cranny of the building Jack went out into the ballpark and found him watching pitching practice. By the time he actually got face to face with the man his anger had all petered out.

“Coach, can I have a word?” Jack asked.

All of the coaches were standing together, and turned in unison to look.

“Thornton,” Jack clarified, and the rest turned back to watch practice.

Thornton followed Jack reluctantly toward the dugout.

“What is it Dalton?” He asked, keeping his eyes on the field. “I’m a bit busy.”

“Matty said you guys had a meeting this morning-”

“When you were late for PT,” Thornton cut him off to finish the sentence for him.

“Yeah, yeah. About that meeting. See, I’m good to play. No reason to bench me for-”

“It’s done Jack,” Thornton said, glancing briefly at Jack and then back at the field. “You’re benched, and she’s grounding you.”

Jack’s mouth fell open. She wouldn’t. “No,” Jack said, “but…” He wasn’t even sure what to say. Grounded meant no away games. Even when he was benched, at least he could sit with the guys and watch the games from the dugout, but now he was stuck in Phoenix fucking Arizona with none of the guys and Matty Webber pushing physical therapy on him every minute of the day.

“No buts Jack,” Thornton said. “If you want to play on opening day this is the way it’s got to be.”

Overwhelming sulkiness and disbelief was one of the few moods that could shut Jack right up. He nodded to Thornton without a word, and walked back toward the clubhouse.

“What’s the matter Jack?” Murdoc asked on his way by. “You are looking a little down.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Nothin’ to concern you with,” he said, “just keep on movin’.”

“It’s not Angus is it?” Murdoc asked. “It seems our new rookie has some issues to work through.”

Jack didn’t rise to the bait, and just kept on walking until he got back to Matty’s office.

“You grounded me?” He asked, intending to be mad, but even he could hear the hurt in his voice as he collapsed back into the chair.

She came around the desk and stood next to him. “Jack, I know how important opening day is for you,” she said. “This is how we make sure you get there. Ok?”

He shrugged, the fight all gone out of him. “Whatever. Let’s do this.”

Matty nodded and pointed through the door to the gym.

 

 

“Grounded?” Mac asked. “For how long?”

“The whole’a spring training,” Jack said sadly, trying not to hang his head and look like a sad bastard on their last free Saturday night. Though, if he checked the time it was probably more like early Sunday morning.

Why did their nights always end in parking lots? When he was younger he’d always thought the life of a sports star was glamorous; limousine rides everywhere, sexy girls hanging on your arm, drugs and booze and clubs and every night ending with champagne and king size beds. But it turned out, boys will be boys and some things never change.  
So instead of champagne, they’d finished the night with Jager shots. And instead of crawling into a king size bed with the lady of his choice, he was sitting next to Mac on the hood of his car watching Cage and Colton try to fist fight, while Acosta and Bozer tried to keep them from beating each other to a pulp.

“They’ll kill you if you mess up that pretty face of yours Billy,” Acosta said as he struggled to hold Colton back.

Billy Colton was one of those pretty boys the team liked to have in their commercials and on their posters. Acosta wasn’t wrong, if they had to deal with photoshopping out a black eye they wouldn’t be happy.

Colton struggled against Acosta’s grip. “Lotsa… time… before… opening day… to heal up,” he growled through laboured breaths. “And… he’d haveta… get a hit… in on me… first.”

The challenge to his fighting ability caused Cage to surge against Bozer, who was easily holding the wiry little shortstop at bay.

“All of spring training?” Mac asked, continuing their conversation as though their friends weren’t trying to fight to the death ten feet away. “That’s not fair.”

“That’s what _I_ said,” Jack admitted, his shoulders drooping a little more. “But, you know what? Matty ain’t wrong. I gotta play in that opener Mac. And if this is how I do it, I guess this is how the cookie crumbles.”

Cage slipped Bozer’s grip, ducked under his arm and lunged for Colton. Acosta did a side step, like they were waltzing, and moved Colton out of the way.

“You weaseley little bastard!” Bozer growled as he got hold of Cage again.

“Why’s opening day so important to you?” Mac asked, trying to meet Jack’s eye.

The combination of liquor and emotional conversations had never been Jack’s best friend, and he looked away from Mac off into the parking lot while his eyes burned. He stayed quiet until he could swallow back the emotions clogging his throat. The sound of scuffling and angry grunts filled the air, but it wasn’t enough to distract him from the crap he was feeling. In the past, with anyone else, he wouldn’t have said a word and tried to brush it off. But talking to Mac was different. It felt different. It was easy.

“It’s Steve, you know,” Jack said. “His last game and all that. I gotta be there for it. On the field.”

“But he’s not even playing,” Mac said.

It was the logic Matty had thrown at him too, and Jack knew it didn’t make any sense. The guy wasn’t even going to be playing alongside him, what did it matter if he played, so long as he was there?

“That’s just it,” Jack said. “The last game we played together in September, was the last one. Ever. And I didn’t even know it was the last one. I don’t even remember the damn game. It was just any other night. Damn if I don’t wish I had just known.”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything,” Mac said.

“You’re right, but it just feels wrong not to be out there with him one more time, even if it’s just for that first pitch. Hear the crowd yellin’ at us. One more time.”

“Closure. I get that,” Mac said, turning his attention back to the fight. “Yeah that’d be nice.”

“And so if I gotta stay back here and hang with Matty while you guys are out there kickin’ ass, I guess that’s what I gotta do,” Jack said, trying to lighten the mood. Then he changed the subject. Sure he felt more comfortable talking with Mac than anybody else he’d ever known, but that didn’t mean he was going to go on and on all night about it. “Hey. Where’s Alice tonight? Busy?”

Mac ignored the question and frowned at the fight that was still trying to happen in front of them. “I can’t believe you’re going to send me out on the road with these guys, by myself.”

Jack smiled. _Yeah, you’ve grown on me too Mac,_ he thought, but didn’t say it out loud. Instead he yelled: “C’mon Cage! You got this! He’s got nothin’ on you for speed.”

“You’re not helpin’ Jack!” Bozer barked at him.

“But he’s not wrong,” Acosta admitted, “you know if I had money on this fight I’d probably put it down on Cage.”

Colton stopped fighting suddenly and took a step back to look at Acosta. “Are you bein’ serious right now?”

Carlos smiled that goofy grin of his. “When am I not serious bro?”

Cage had stopped struggling against Bozer and was now watching the fresh argument.

“I could snap him like a twig!” Colton yelled angrily at Acosta, who didn’t even flinch.

“Yeah, but you’d have to catch him first,” Acosta reasoned. “You ever seen anybody move as fast as Cage?”

Colton sighed. “No,” he said, and then pointed at Cage. “But if I ever caught you, you’d be-”

“In a body bag,” Cage answered, rolling his eyes, “I got it.”

The fight broke up like a balloon popping and suddenly everyone was friends again.

“Ok Jack, explain somethin’ to me,” Bozer said, leaning against the side of Jack’s Shelby Cobra. “Why is it that Mac can sit on the hood’a your car, but I’m not allowed?”

Jack frowned at Bozer, and caught Mac smiling out of the corner of his eye. “Well Boze, if you must know, he asked nicely and said please.”

Mac grinned and looked away. He hadn’t really asked, Jack had invited him to sit there.

“Can I _please_ have a seat?” Bozer asked.

“Sorry,” Jack said, “there’s really only room for two.”

 

 

First thing Monday morning Thornton paced back and forth in the middle of the clubhouse in front of the whole team. After years of stress, long hours, and stadium food, most managers developed into round old men who were content to sit behind desks and watch the younger men do the work. Thornton had never been one for that kind of nonsense. You couldn’t ask someone to do something that you wouldn’t be willing to do yourself. So he worked out regularly and kept his athletic figure, which allowed him to pace with fervour whenever he gave a speech.

“The first rule of Spring Training: Don’t talk to the press.” He paused dramatically and scanned the room. “You got that rookie?” He asked, pointing directly at Mac.

MacGyver was startled at being called out, and glanced at Dalton as though he wasn’t sure if he should answer or not. “Uh, yeah. Of course. I mean: of course not. No talking to the press. Got it.”

Dalton snickered. Him and Mac were acting just like high school kids. This was going to be a fun season.

Thornton turned back to the rest of the room, and continued his press tirade. Each year was the same speech, new talking points, but mostly the same. There were always secrets to keep within the team. “Don’t talk to the press about the rookie’s… issues,” he glared at MacGyver again, his gaze travelling to Dalton. “And especially, I cannot stress this enough, don’t say a fucking thing to them about McGarrett.” He’d told the team about McGarrett’s departure, but the rest of the world would be in the dark until opening day. He resumed pacing.

“Come on coach,” Colton spoke up boldly, “they’re gonna ask us about McGarrett. We gotta say somethin’.”

Thornton hated being interrupted. He stopped dead and glared dramatically at Colton for a minute before he answered. Colton glared back, un-phased. Guy sure had a set on him. Made him a damn good player. “You tell them you don’t know shit, cause you’re a player, not a manager. Far as you know he’s doing PT and that’s that.” Thornton resumed his steady pacing. “Next order of business: we’ve got five days gentlemen. Five days to get warmed up and ready to go before our first pre-season game. And we’re out of town for our first four.”

All the guys groaned. Thornton knew the schedule hadn’t gone in their favour. The guys just got here, just got settled in, and then they were being shipped out on the road in a bus for five days. It wasn’t anybody’s idea of a good time.

“I know, I know,” Thornton called over their complaining. “It’s not ideal. But suck it up. If you don’t like it, you can forfeit your contract and leave.”

The chatter died slowly.

“Alright boys, scatter already and let’s get started,” Thornton said, waving toward the lockers.

 

 

The rest of the team buzzed around them getting ready, but Mac stood in front of his locker staring into space. 

“You upset cause Thornton called you out?” Jack asked. Mac hadn’t struck him as being that sensitive.

Mac shook his head. “I’ve never worn a pro jersey before,” he said, reaching out his hand toward the uniform hanging in his locker. His hand stopped just short of touching the fabric.

Jack’s locker, right next to Mac’s, contained his brand spanking new jersey as well. Putting on a new uniform was one of Jack’s favourite things, ever since his first season. Didn’t matter if it was minor or major league, he just loved the smell and feel of that new fabric. It was something special each and every time. The blood red jersey, Dalton in bright white plastered across the back arched over that number 21 he’d worn for so many years. It was a ritual. So Jack understood where the kid’s reverence was coming from.

“Well come on then,” Jack said, pulling his own uniform off the hanger. “Don’t wanna be the last one out there.”

Mac smiled at him, and finally closed that last few inches to feel the fabric of his new life. Jack smiled back, hoping to hide the nagging worry in the back of his brain that the kid might never wear that jersey outside of pre-season.

Spring training was a free for all. Guys from the minors were brought up all the time to try out for six weeks until the roster was finalized for the season. If they didn’t work out they were sent back down, never seeing a day of actual major league play. Thornton talked about Mac like he was a sure bet and would be playing in the regular season, but if they didn’t see any results, Jack didn’t understand why they would carry the rookie through. Except for that little tidbit Matty had fed him: Mac had connections somewhere, and someone was pushing all the right buttons for him to play for the Firebirds.

Each time he looked back at Mac though, all that gossip and game politics mumbo jumbo shot right out of Jack’s head, and all he wanted to do was help this kid succeed. Not because the team needed him, not because losing McGarrett would hurt fan loyalty and they wanted a new star to throw to the masses, but because the rookie wanted it so damn bad. And for some reason down in his heart Jack wanted to make that happen.

Jack slipped his jersey on and flexed his shoulders against the brand new fabric. That was always his favourite part: the tight feel in the shoulders of a new jersey that needed to be worn in. The way it pulled across his chest, putting up just a little bit of a fight against his muscles. Every single time it reminded him of his first minor league jersey: The Dallas Deltas. He still had it packed up somewhere in a box. Maybe one day he’d pull it out and sell if off to some collector, while his name was still worth something. Before he faded from everyone’s memory.

The rest of the boys had already hit the field, and Jack knew they’d catch hell if they weren’t close behind. Belt buckled, glove in hand, he glanced over at Mac.

The rookie pulled the cap from his locker and put it on, tugging the brim this way and that to settle it in just the right spot. Blonde hair, tucked behind his ears, a stark contrast from the red ball cap, the crimson uniform making his blue eyes seem so much more intense than they did when he wore the neutral colours he normally chose. PR was gonna have a field day with this guy. Sometimes it was about aesthetics with a player, PR always wanted to have a few “heartthrobs” for promotional photos, commercials, all that junk. Guys like Billy Colton who had the right amount of handsomeness and brawn. Mac was the perfect candidate for that.

Jack clapped Mac’s shoulders, gripped his arms and shook him a little. “So? How’s it feel rookie?”

Mac smiled and nodded. “It fits,” he said humbly. “I guess that means I get to stay?”

Jack threw an arm around Mac’s shoulder and steered him toward the field. “Hell yeah you can stay. I’ll fight anybody who says otherwise.”

 

 

Jack collapsed onto the locker room bench Thursday afternoon completely exhausted. Training and PT with Matty were wearing him thin. Had training always been so hard? Or was he really getting as old as everyone tried to tell him he was?

“You alright man?” Mac asked, sitting down next to him, drenched in sweat from running around in the hot Arizona afternoon.

“I’m not gonna lie,” Jack said, “this week has sucked.”

Mac laughed. “And it’s not even over yet,” he said, tossing his ball cap into his locker and running a hand through his sweaty hair. “Wanna go order pizza and watch Die Hard?”

Jack sighed heavily. “Hell yeah I do!” He said, peeling the jersey from his body and throwing it into the hamper in the corner.

“Angus and Jack,” a creepy voice interrupted from behind them. “Brothers from another mother it would seem.”

“What do you want Murdoc?” Mac and Jack said together, their voices sharing the same exasperation.

“See what I mean?” Murdoc said, eerily happy that they’d made his point for him.

“Ok dude, what?” Jack asked, putting on his confrontational voice. 

“I was just wondering if you’ve figured out our rookie’s little problem yet?” Murdoc said, his voice silky and cold, the smile never leaving his face. “You see, we’re heading out on the road tomorrow and I really would like to win some games.”

“We’re gonna do just fine, so mind your own damn business,” Jack snapped, continuing to shed his uniform.

Murdoc chuckled, it was controlled and unnatural. “We? _We_ aren’t going to be doing anything are we Jack? You’re going to be here, nursing yourself back to health while the rest of us go out and earn your pay check.”

Jack’s hands closed into hard fists.

“I earn my keep ‘round here just fine,” Jack seethed, turning toward the pitcher.

“Well, you would if you could get your rookie working right,” Murdoc said. “But he’s broken isn’t he? Still swinging wild with no feel for the batter’s box.”

“I’m standing right here man,” Mac said, facing Murdoc and puffing his chest out. “Whatever you’ve got to say, say it to my face.” Jack hadn’t really seen Mac stand up for himself before, and he could see how the kid could be intimidating. His eyes were cold and full of threat, his jaw clenched. Much as Jack wanted to step in and threaten Murdoc himself, he stepped back and let Mac have the floor.

Murdoc’s smile faded a little, but a curious excitement sparked in his eyes as his gaze travelled over to Mac. “Oh Angus, I just want what’s best for the team. I’m sure you understand. And a lead off player that can’t hit the broad side of a barn definitely isn’t what’s best for the team. Maybe spend some more time in the batting cages. Or, if you need, I could offer my services for batting practice.” He paused, as though Mac would actually take him up on that offer. “Either way, if you can’t get your head sorted out, we won’t have to worry about printing any programs with your name on it.”

“Murdoc that’s enough!” Thornton’s voice cut through the din, and Murdoc had the sense to look afraid of that booming voice. “Stop being a dick and hit the showers already.”

Murdoc, smile no longer on his face, locked eyes with Jack. There was nothing in those eyes, they were cold and empty and it made Jack’s body break out in goosebumps.

“Alright boys,” Thornton continued, waiting for the rest of the talking to die down. “Bus leaves tomorrow after practice, so I need you guys cleaned up and ready to leave by four. Except you Dalton.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jack said under his breath, “don’t gotta rub it in.” He threw the rest of his uniform into the hamper in the corner so hard he knocked it over before he headed for the showers.

 

 

When the last of the players walked by with their overstuffed bags, Matty followed them out into the parking lot. She stood a long ways back, waiting for everybody to get loaded onto the bus. Normally Matty didn’t watch the team leave for away games. What a waste of time. But today was different. It was the first away trip and Jack was grounded, being left behind without any of his friends, and he was going to need some companionship.

The set of Jack’s wide shoulders, the tilt of his head, told Matty he was even more upset than she expected. He stuck pretty close to MacGyver the whole time, chatting and laughing but there was tension in both of them. Why were they so anxious about this whole thing? It was just spring training, not like blondie was going off to war.

Once everybody was loaded up Jack turned back to the ballpark, saw Matty, and joined her. Their relationship, a weird combination of professionalism and long years spent in close proximity, had made them comfortable with each other. You didn’t spend such a long time working together in close contact without sharing a few things about yourself and your life. And those shared moments added up to a friendship somewhere along the way.

“Hey Matty,” Jack said, his voice serious.

The bus squeaked as the brakes were released and it slowly picked up speed on its way out of the parking lot. Matty swore she could see Mac’s face in one of the windows looking back at them. Looking back at Jack.

“What was that all about?” She asked, never one for subtlety.

“What are you goin’ on about now?” Jack asked.

Matty sighed. Jack always loved playing coy. “You and MacGyver,” she said. “You know he’s coming back right?”

Jack made a face at her, scrunching up his features into a little snarl. “‘Course I know that,” he said. “Just worried about him is all.”

“He’s a big boy,” Matty said, “he can take care of himself. Is it Murdoc you’re worried about?”

Jack continued to watch the bus edge away down the street. “Little bit’a everything,” he said. “First road game, Murdoc’s been pickin’ at him some…” he trailed off and there was something hanging there he didn’t want to say.

“And he still can’t hit,” Matty finished for him.

Jack took in a huge breath so he could sigh it back out. “And he still can’t hit,” Jack said.

“Are you worried they’re gonna cut him?” Matty asked.

Jack looked down at her, eyes wide and panicked. “Why, you heard somethin’?”

She shook her head. “No, but if he still can’t hit when the season starts I don’t see them keeping him around,” she said, adding, “even if he is well connected.”

“I had that thought myself.”

Finally the bus passed out of sight around a corner.

“Come on Jack,” she said, grabbing his hand to pull him back toward the ballpark. “I need a drink.”

Jack kept looking at the corner the bus had turned around. “You and me both,” he said and let her lead him away from the parking lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the updates are taking a while... this story is getting more complicated and it's taking some time to iron things out. Want to make sure it's up to snuff for you guys!!!
> 
> As always on this story: if there's any baseball stuff that doesn't make sense to you or I haven't explained well please let me know and I can work on it... or put a note at the beginning for other readers. Thanks!


	11. The Lone Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Mac is out on road games, Jack makes an unexpected friend.
> 
> Mac's hitting problem gets worse and neither he or Jack can figure out exactly what to do about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update again at last!!! These next couple chapters had me right wound up. But I finally powered through! I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thank you N1ghtshade for beta reading for me!!! You're a gem!!!! <\----- If you haven't read their stuff check it out!!!!!! Brilliant AUs!!!! And all the feels... (LOTS of whump)
> 
> As always: please let me know if there is any confusing baseball stuff in here and I'll add notes at the beginning! Thanks!

Jack was used to being a lone wolf. He’d been grounded for PT before and had been living without a roommate for almost five years. Alone time was nothing new. 

This time was different. He’d gotten used to having Mac around. Movie nights and someone to drink coffee with in the mornings. Even just someone to sit and talk with after a long tiring day of training. It didn’t help he was worried about the rookie out on the road with the team, with Murdoc.

The second night of his quiet, empty apartment, Jack was seriously considering heading down to the bar and looking for Dawn just so he could have some companionship, when a knock came to his door.

Jack almost said “thank the lord” aloud when he jumped up from the couch and bolted to answer. He was surprised to find Alice waiting on the other side of that door. Holding a six-pack of his favourite beer and a pizza, wearing an oversized t-shirt and old worn out jeans.

“Delivery!” She chimed with a smile that peppered her cheeks with dimples. She didn’t wait for an invitation and walked right past him into the apartment. She deposited the beer in the fridge, pulling out a bottle for each of them, and flopped down on the couch, tossing the pizza box onto the coffee table.

All the while Jack was still holding the door open in surprise.

“What’re you waiting for cowboy?” She asked, pulling a slice from the box and putting her feet up on the table.

Jack was immediately suspicious. Sure, they’d become fast friends, but when your best friend’s out of town and his gal shows up on your doorstep it usually isn’t a friendly thing. Girls who dated sports stars tended to be fickle, and Mac hadn’t really been treating Alice with a ton of interest lately. Or respect for that matter.

“What are you doin’ here Ali?” Jack asked, cursing himself for using the cute nickname, as he closed the door slowly. Closing the door felt like signing some kind of agreement, but it felt weird to leave it open.

“I figured that with our boy out of town you’d be going crazy,” Alice said. “Thought maybe you’d be interested in a movie night or something. Got anything good on the PVR?”

They were just friends. That’s all. Jack would sit with her and if she tried to make a move he’d let her know that he wasn’t into his friend’s girls and they’d forget anything had ever happened. 

They were just friends.

Jack sat down next to her on the couch, taking the beer from her and grabbing a piece of pizza.

“There’s always somethin’ good on my PVR,” Jack said.

She sat in her spot, right in the middle of the couch. When Mac was around she always sat between the two of them and she took up that place again just like she expected Mac to walk back through the door at any moment and sit on her other side.

“Yes! Jaws the Revenge,” she said as she clicked on the movie and it started to play.

“No, no, no,” Jack said, snatching the remote from her hand and hitting the back button. “You can’t start with the fourth movie. What’s the matter with you?” He started on the first movie instead.

Jack immediately forgot his concerns once the opening scene was done and they started a running commentary on the movie. Alice constantly waved her bottle or piece of pizza at the screen whenever anything ludicrous happened, yelling her criticisms along with it.

When the end credits rolled, any awkwardness Jack had been feeling had seeped away into that comfortable friendship he’d developed with Ali over the last few weeks. She was a real pal; Easy to talk to, good at listening. Sure they got a little flirtatious sometimes, but it was always in a joking way, never something that would go any further.

Jack was queueing up the second movie when Ali asked, out of nowhere: “What’s with the bat, Jack?”

Jack looked over at her, but found her eyes glued to something across the room. He followed her gaze to his equipment bag. Since Mac was out of town, and he didn’t have to listen to his roommate complain about it, Jack had taken to tossing it into the corner of the normally shared living room. His lucky bat stuck out of the bag, leaning against the wall.

“I use it to hit baseballs,” Jack sassed, before returning his attention to the TV and starting the second movie.

“But Mac never brings his bats home,” Ali said, curling her legs underneath herself as she turned away from the TV and toward Jack. “So, why do you bring yours home?”

Jack sighed. It was bad luck to talk about lucky charms, he knew that much. “I just don’t like to leave it at the clubhouse, that’s all.”

“Why not?” Ali asked, in that matter-of-fact way she had of not letting something go; That all consuming curiosity she seemed to have for the details of the game she’d never cared about until she met Mac.

Jack narrowed his eyes at her and she returned his glare with that sweet wide-eyed innocent way she had. They sat like that for a minute or two before Jack cracked.

“It’s my lucky bat, ok?” Jack said, turning back to the movie.

“What makes it so lucky?” She asked, getting up from the couch and walking over toward the bat. 

Jack’s muscles tensed up all along his body as she got closer to it. He wanted to reach out and pull her away from it, like it was dangerous somehow; A rattlesnake in the grass.

When he didn’t answer her, she looked back and saw something in his face that made her back away from the bat and return to the couch. She didn’t say a thing about it, just asked her question again: “What makes it lucky?”

Jack relaxed again, still feeling a little shaky. “I, uh, hit a grand slam walk off with that bat during the World Series a few years ago,” he said. “Haven’t used it since, but it comes with me to the clubhouse everyday.”

Ali looked a little confused. “Ok, I’ve been learning a lot about baseball, but for the life of me I don’t know what most of that meant.”

“A grand slam is a home run when the bases are loaded,” Jack explained, “and a walk off is a game winning hit.”

“Ah, ok,” she said. “So basically that bat won you the big championship?”

Jack nodded.

“Why didn’t you just say that?” She scoffed. “And you haven’t used it again, ever?”

Jack shook his head. “Nope, it’d be bad luck.”

“Why?” She asked.

Jack couldn’t explain. Sports superstitions never made sense. Why did growing a beard make you more likely to win? When some guy didn’t change his socks until they lost, how did that help? Luck and superstition in sports were instinct, outside of the normal realm of explanation.

“Just is,” he said.

Ali looked in his eyes and seemed to decide that she wasn’t going to get a better answer than that. She turned back to the TV and settled into the couch.

When she fell asleep during the third movie, Jack covered her with a blanket and left her to sleep. Halfway to his room he saw the bat out of the corner of his eye; Sitting out in the living room, exposed. He walked softly over to it, slipped it out of the equipment bag, and brought it with him into his room.

Jack lay in bed awake thinking about how tense he’d gotten at the idea of Ali touching his bat. But that first day he’d met Mac, when the kid was standing there holding it in the middle of the living room, Jack hadn’t felt that tenseness. Sure he'd been mad to find someone messing with his stuff, but he hadn’t given much thought to the fact that Mac was the only person but Jack to touch that bat since he’d hit that grand slam.

 

 

Matty was torturing Jack with some awful strength training exercise when his phone rang. Jack just about dropped the weight on his foot he was so happy to have a break.

“Gotta grab that,” Jack had insisted as he slipped the phone from his pocket and went into the hall. The caller ID told him it was Mac, but the team should have been playing a game. “Hey man, what’s up?” Jack answered.

“I can’t do this!” Mac’s frustrated voice was tinny over the line. Jack had gotten to know the kid so well in the short period they’d known each other he could just about see the look on the kid’s face. All scrunched up with anger, and frustration, his eyes cold and hard.

“Can’t do what?” Jack asked, trying to stay calm for the rookie.

“I haven’t had a hit since we’ve been on the road Jack,” Mac said. The despair in his voice hit Jack like a ton of bricks.

“That’s alright,” Jack said. “Just relax and take your time.”

“I can’t do this,” Mac said again, the despair turning into defeat.

“Come on now,” Jack said, hoping his voice sounded determined. “You got this man. Just don’t let it-”

“Tell me some stupid story or something,” Mac pleaded. “Anything to get my mind off this next at bat.”

Jack paused. He was plum out of stories. He’d told the rookie every damn one that he had in his arsenal. Put on the spot he couldn’t think of a single other thing.

“Please Jack.”

There was one story. One story he’d never told anyone else. Jack turned around to make sure Matty had gone back to her office, and he snuck a little further down the hall just to make sure he wouldn’t be overheard.

“You got it Mac,” Jack said. “So it’s the last game of the World Series and I can’t sleep for shit. I’ve been tossin’ and turnin’ all night. It’s an away game, and we’re stuck in Boston in some hotel, and I’m roomin’ with Steve. He’s gettin’ mad, right? Cause I’m keepin’ him up. So he hauls my ass outta bed, doesn’t even let me get dressed, and drags me on down to Fenway and damn if he doesn’t set up a ball machine and make me hit balls until I’m so tired I can’t see straight.”

“No way,” Mac said, the frustration seeping out of his voice.

“Yeah he did,” Jack said. “He’s sittin’ on the grass behind home plate yellin’ at me the whole time. Stuff like: ‘you tired yet asshole?’ Coach would’a killed us if he ever found out. Tirin’ ourselves out right before the biggest game of the whole season.”

Coach’s voice echoed over the line: “Where’s the rookie? MacGyver! You’re on deck! Move your ass!”

“Thanks Jack,” Mac said before the line went dead.

Jack slid the phone into his pocket and leaned back against the cool cinderblock wall. He’d never told anybody that story. He’d kept it tucked away inside. So much of what he and Steve had done was public knowledge. Hell, most of it was recorded on video, or photographed. But that was the one moment they’d shared on the ball diamond where no one else had been around. Just two friends having a laugh. No camera guys, no magazine photographers, no journalists or announcers. Just two guys, hanging out and hitting some baseballs. So he’d kept it all to himself until he’d heard that pleading in Mac’s voice, and then he just let it go like that private memory didn’t mean the world to him. Like helping Mac meant more.

 

 

That night Jack was grateful when Ali knocked on his door again.

She’d brought more beer, and insisted they finish the marathon they’d started the night before.

Halfway through Jaws: The Revenge she piped up suddenly. “Jack?”

“Hmmm?” Jack replied through a mouthful of popcorn.

“Why didn’t you go with the team?” She asked.

“Still workin’ on my shoulder,” Jack replied. “Physical therapy. Can’t miss it or they won’t let me play opening day.”

“How’d you hurt it?” She asked.

Jack took another handful of popcorn. “Last season. Took a bad spill in right field catchin’ a ball. Fell on it wrong, been screwed up ever since.”

“You’re still working on an injury from last season?” She asked.

Jack nodded. “Some things take longer to heal than others.”

A silence grew between them, and Jack could hear the things she wanted to ask, but didn’t want to hurt him: probably doesn’t take that long for a younger guy to heal, right? And: are you going to be healed up enough to play opening day? Things that had been running through Jack’s head too.

Instead, when she spoke again, she asked: “What are you going to do after baseball Jack?” The way she said it implied he should probably think about that sooner rather than later. What did she know? She barely knew a thing about the game.

They were sharing a blanket, the bowl of popcorn resting on top, half on her leg, half on his. He grabbed another handful and shoved it into his mouth to stall for time.

“Never thought much about it,” he said truthfully. “Been pretty good with my money. Might just retire.”

“Pretty good with your money? Says the guy who owns a ’65 Shelby Cobra. Do you have any idea how much that car is worth?”

Jack laughed. “I bought it, didn’t I?”

“So, just sell your car and retire to some private island somewhere?” She asked.

Retirement and islands just made him think of Steve again. They’d gone to Hawaii together a few times over the years; Visit Steve’s dad, lounge around and relax. There were worse ways to spend your time. He wondered if Steve was sitting out on that private beach of his having a beer, and the urge to call him almost overwhelmed Jack. Would it be so weird if Jack kicked around Hawaii for a few years? Or was he just supposed to let Steve move on with a new life while he was stuck alone in the old one?

Jack took another sip of his beer and tried to focus on the movie again. Hard not to keep thinking of Steve when he was watching the ocean and beaches.

“Never know,” Jack said, “if I can get Mac in line maybe they’ll let me coach.”

 

The first person off the bus when the team got back was Thornton, and he glared at Jack like nobody’s business as he strode across the asphalt.

“My office Dalton,” Thornton said on his way by. “Now!”

Jack hesitated, wanting to greet his roommate, but followed obediently when Thornton called his name again.

Thornton leaned over his desk, hands planted, doing his best to look menacing. “Dalton, we’ve got a problem.”

“What’s that?” Jack asked. “I don’t know what trouble I could’a caused all the way back here.”

Thornton didn’t yell. His voice was cold and empty. “You know damn well what trouble. That rookie didn’t hit one thing while we were on the road. Not even a foul tip. That’s my problem. And yours too.”

“I’m tryin’ man,” Jack said. “Just give me the rest of spring trainin’.” Unsure exactly what more he could accomplish in the next five weeks, Jack was praying for a miracle.

Thornton exhaled heavily through his nostrils. “If it were up to me I already would have sent him back down,” he said. “But it isn’t up to me, so he’s staying. But I’m telling you that if you can’t get this rookie together by opening day we’re going to have a real problem you and me. We’ve got a shot this year, but not as long as we’ve got a weak link like MacGyver around.”

 

 

Jack wandered slowly to the locker room, feeling defeated. No matter what he tried, no matter how he pushed, Mac just wasn’t making any progress. And it sounded like his first few games had been a total disaster.

The locker room was empty already. No doubt the guys were all so sick and tired of the road they’d stashed their gear in record time and headed back to the hotel.

Jack double checked, and Mac’s stuff was all stowed in his locker, though the rack for his bats was lighter than it had been when he’d left.

Sharp whistling cut the air and Jack turned to find Murdoc standing in the hallway, blocking the exit.

“What do you want?” Jack asked, not in the mood for games.

“Here’s what I find so interesting Jacky boy,” Murdoc said. “Why is it exactly we’ve got a rookie who just went 0 for 14 in his first four games and he hasn’t been benched yet?”

Jack sighed. 0 for 14 was bad. Not one hit in 14 at bats; Jack was surprised Thornton had left Mac in for all four games.

The creepy smile on Murdoc’s face didn’t transfer to the cold words that came out next. “Makes you wonder doesn’t it?”

“Makes you wonder what Murdoc?” Jack asked.

“Well, who exactly our little Angus is to warrant such favouritism.”

Jack’s mind flipped back to the conversation he’d had with Matty. Where she’d hinted that Mac was a trust fund kid with family high up the ladder somewhere. Somebody with connections.

“I can see in your face that you’ve had the very same thought,” Murdoc said gleefully, his grin stretching wider. “And just think that because of Angus, good old Steve was forced into retirement.”

The mention of Steve snapped him right out of whatever spell Murdoc was weaving and Jack puffed his chest out. “You’ve got a reputation, you know that Murdoc?” He asked, stepping closer to King Nutbar.

“Oh goodie,” Murdoc rubbed his hands together in excitement. “Is this the part where you tell me that you saw me coming a mile away and I’m not going to be able to get into your head? Well go ahead there Jack. What exactly is my reputation?”

Jack narrowed his eyes and stepped even closer. “You know what? You’re not worth it, get outta my way,” he barrelled past the pitcher and down the hallway toward the parking lot.

“You might not think it worked Jacky boy,” Murdoc called after him, “but I’ve planted that little tiny seed in that tiny little brain of yours, and it won’t take much to get it growing.”

Mac was slouched over, seated on the hood of Jack’s car, his large duffel on the ground near the trunk.

Jack eased onto the hood next to Mac, and cringed as the suspension creaked ominously. About time to get her in for a tune up. Mac didn’t even look up.

“Not the best road trip ever, I hear?” Jack said, staring out at the setting sun.

Mac didn’t even reply, just continued to fiddle with something in his fingers. Something that sparkled in the light of the setting sun.

“What say we go get a six pack and we can talk about it,” Jack suggested.

Mac still didn’t reply.

“Or not. Movie night?” Jack asked.

Mac finally sat up. “Sounds good,” his voice was hoarse, and filled with bitterness.

“Listen man, it gets easier, I’m tellin’ ya,” Jack tried to reassure him. Though he could hear the emptiness in that promise. “If you wanna give Alice a call, you could do-”

“No,” Mac replied a bit too quickly. “I don’t think so. I’m pretty tired. I think I just wanna have a beer, or twelve, and go to bed.”

“Alright man,” Jack conceded. “Let’s bounce.”

 

 

The first fans started to filter into the ballpark. It was still quiet, the voices just starting to waft a word or two across the outfield. The bullpen was Jack’s favourite place to hang out before a game. From the dugout you could watch the furthest seats fill up, but the fans who were the most excited sat closer to home plate. And Jack loved to see the excitement on the kids’ faces as they realized just how close they would be to their heroes during the game. Loved hearing the sound grow from nothing at all to the roaring crowd. These things made the ballpark home for him. No place in the world he’d rather be.

“Hey Jack,” Bozer said as he came up the hallway behind Jack. “First home game of the season. Should be a good one.”

Jack made a non-committal noise. It was bittersweet for Jack since he wouldn’t be playing, and Mac was still struggling. And no matter how hard he tried to forget it, that conversation with Murdoc was bouncing around his head trying to convince him that the guy was on to something. The whole day felt tainted.

Bozer started some warmup exercises while he waited for the catcher to join him.

“Boze,” Jack turned away from the growing crowd. “Can I ask you somethin’?”

“Of course Jack,” Bozer said warmly, “anything.”

“This thing with Mac,” Jack said, “what’s it look like from your end?”

Bozer bent down to touch his toes and stayed there. “Not sure what you mean Jack.”

“Come on Boze,” Jack said, “no bullshit. You pitched for him for a week. And you came up in the minors with him. What does it look like to you?”

Bozer stood back up, his friendly smile faded. “It’s the same thing you said from the start Jack, he’s overthinkin’ it.”

“Yeah, but Boze, what does that look like to you?” Jack asked, desperation seeping through in his voice. “What do you see that makes you think he’s overthinkin’?”

“It’s in his eyes,” Boze said. “You watch him hit against a ball machine, and his eyes are set on the spout where that ball is comin’ from. But you watch him against a pitcher and his eyes are all over the place. He can’t decide what to watch for. What to look at. He’s tryin’ too hard. Thinkin’ too much.”

Jack sighed and turned back to the growing crowd. “Yeah, but what’s the solution Boze? How do we stop that big brain’a his from thinkin’?”

“I’ve know Mac a long time,” Boze said, “I don’t think there’s a thing in the world that can stop him from thinkin’.”

“Well it sure as hell ain’t women,” Jack commented.

Bozer didn’t reply, just went to the bullpen mound and started practicing his stance.

“I mean, he’s got Alice at our place at the drop of a hat,” Jack kept going, “but he never seems to want her around.”

Jack snuck a look over at Boze who continued his silence. The pitcher didn’t do nonchalant very well. He might as well have been whistling and looking up at the sky. He knew something.

“Does he have a girl back in Mission City or something?” Jack asked.

“Never had a serious relationship long as I’ve known him,” Bozer replied. Something about the way he said it screamed “I’m hiding something.” And he wouldn’t look at Jack.

“Did he have a bad break up or something?” Jack asked. “Some girl leave him in the lurch, cheat on him or something?” That had happened to Steve once and his game had suffered for almost two months solid.

Bozer shook his head, but still wouldn’t meet Jack’s eye. “He’s just really focused on the game, you know? Obsessed really.” Bozer was definitely hiding something. There was some past there that Bozer was a good enough friend to keep secret for Mac.

Jack couldn’t fault a good friend, and decided to leave it at that. But he was going to find out that secret. There were too many secrets in the clubhouse for his liking and the season hadn’t even started yet. Jack was determined to get as many out in the open as he could.

The park filled up with fans, but it didn’t fill Jack’s heart the way it used to. The kids screaming and waving bags of popcorn around used to make him happier than he could remember. He told himself that it was just because he missed Steve, and that he’d get used to it. But as he walked across the field to sit on the bench and not play something weighed heavily on him.

Mac broke his first bat at home during the sixth inning of that game.

After his third strikeout, he came back to the dugout, gripped the bat hard with both hands and slammed it down onto the bench where it cracked in half and spit splinters every which way. The yell he let out when he broke it echoed around the ballpark and silenced the crowd for a solid thirty seconds.

“Dude, you’re gonna run outta bats soon,” Jack joked, trying to get Mac into a better mood.

Mac slumped down onto the bench next to him, his muscles still visibly tight and tensed with frustration. Jack knew how the kid felt. Mac wanted to hit something else, but was holding himself back.

Jack clapped him on the shoulder and felt his teammate relax a bit under the contact.

“You got the next one,” Jack said, “don’t worry about it. I think you’ve just about got this pitcher figured out.”

Mac did not have the pitcher figured out, and struck out his last time up too.

 

 

The second bat Mac broke at home was the very next game. The guys told Jack it was the same as all the road games.

“He just can’t hit,” Colton said sadly, sitting next to Jack on the bench while they watched the rookie swing wild at bad pitches.

“Never could,” Bozer said quietly, so just Jack could hear. He sounded sad, like he wanted more than anything for Mac to be able to hit.

“I think he gave up on strategy a while ago,” Cage said, “he just swings at everything now. He’s not even trying to watch pitches anymore.”

“How many bats did he break on the road?” Jack asked.

“Four,” the boys answered together.

Four bats in four games. Bats that weren’t broken on pitches, because he wasn’t hitting anything. That wasn’t good. Anger could be a good motivator sometimes, but most of the time it just built up a frustration that needed an outlet. And if you didn’t have the game as an outlet then it had to go somewhere.

Mac came back to the dugout and this time he hurled his bat down the hallway toward the clubhouse. Jack heard it break against the cement floor. The rookie grabbed his water bottle and upended it over his head, gasping through the stream that poured into his mouth.

 

 

On the way home from the game, the car was silent. Jack tried to make conversation but it just fizzled as Mac continued to withdraw into himself.

Jack could understand the frustration. Mac was getting his once in a lifetime chance at the big leagues, and if he continued to mess it up he’d never even see regular season play. Some guys floated around between the majors and minors their whole careers, getting call-ups mid season, getting sent back down before the end of the same season. But, if Jack took a guess, Mac was pushing 30. Late to get a first call up, and if he didn’t do something to impress soon, he probably wouldn’t get called up again.

“Listen dude, we’re gonna get this figured out,” Jack said, feeling like a broken record.

“You keep saying that, but nothing’s happening,” Mac spat from the other side of the car. “I just keep getting worse and worse.”

Jack was beginning to get pissed off at the kid’s defeatist attitude. He didn’t know how to help someone who didn’t think they deserved help, and was starting to think they’d never succeed.

“Listen man, it’s a free day tomorrow and we’re gonna go do somethin’ fun alright?” Jack said. He’d planned it with Thornton and cleared it with Matty. There usually weren’t free days in spring training, and the rest of the guys were going to be running drills, but Jack needed to do something to jumpstart Mac and get him out of the funk he was in. Thornton had readily agreed.

“Whatever,” Mac huffed against the car window.

ACDC blared out of the radio, and Jack resisted the urge to sing along. Definitely not the right time for that.

Mac’s phone ring punctuated the silence, cutting through Bon Scott’s wailing voice. He pulled the phone out, glanced at the screen and silenced the call, shoving the phone back into his pocket.

“Hey, is that Ali?” Jack asked. “Why don’t you have her come over tonight. She might be just the ticket to-”

“She’s not!” Mac said. “She’s not going to fix my problem! If you like her so much why don’t you call her up? I’m sure she’d take a roll in the hay with the famous Jack Dalton over an unknown rookie like me any day.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Jack replied angrily, slamming on the brakes and stopping the car. “Where do you get off? What the hell do you know about me? Known me for a few weeks and already got me figured, huh? And Alice? What’s she done to you other than look at you like you’re the best thing that’s walked into her life in a long time?”

That niggling little seed Murdoc had planted was beginning to get the water he’d warned about. Mac was acting like an entitled, spoiled, trust fund baby, and Jack wasn’t going to put up with that for even one minute.

“I think I’ll walk the rest of the way,” Mac said, opening the door and stepping out into the street.

“Be ready early tomorrow!” Jack said. “We got somewhere to be.”

“No problem,” Mac barked.

“And I ain’t bringin’ your gear up for you!”

“Fine!” Mac yelled as he slammed the door, and started to walk in the direction of the hotel.


	12. Swinging for the Fences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Alice's friendship develops further while Mac's on the road.
> 
> Jack racks his brain for a solution to Mac's problem while the deadline gets closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BASEBALL TERMS  
> On deck: next up to bat  
> In the hole: 3rd in line up to bat
> 
>  
> 
> As always: let me know if any of the baseball stuff is confusing please!!! Thank you!!!
> 
> And again: N1ghtshade you are the best for beta reading for me!!!!! Much thanks!!!!!

Jack woke before his alarm went off. The smell of frying bacon roused him. He crawled out of bed and made his way to the kitchen where a cup of coffee waited for him on the counter.

“Morning,” Mac said, his back to Jack while he cooked at the stove.

“Mornin’,” Jack returned after a sip of coffee that Mac had already filled with butter. “What’s the occasion?”

“What, I can’t cook my roommate breakfast?” Mac asked.

Jack stayed quiet and sipped at his coffee.

Mac kept himself busy at the stove, pulling the bacon off and finishing the eggs. When he finally turned to hand Jack a plate full of food he wouldn’t even bring his eyes up.

“Listen Jack,” Mac breathed out heavily. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a…”

“Asshole,” Jack inserted. “The word you’re lookin’ for… is asshole.”

Mac smiled a little and finally met Jack’s eyes. Mac nodded. “Sorry I’ve been such an asshole.”

Jack smiled and shot Mac a wink. “It’s all good hoss,” he said, scooping up a forkful of food. “I understand. It’s gotta be tough.” 

Jack had been a rookie all star, he’d never had to worry about failing at the game. Not until his injuries had sidelined him more and more the past few years. But when he was Mac’s age, he’d been in his prime. He’d played on the all star team fourteen years in a row; Up there with the all time greats. He’d never worried about being sent down, only worried about if he’d be traded.

“There’s no good excuse,” Mac said. “I just…” The smile that had been growing on his face faded again and his brows curled down in frustration as he searched for a word. “…Get so mad. And I don’t know what to do with it.”

“You just gotta let it go man,” Jack said through a mouthful of egg. “Can’t take it all so seriously.”

“Easy enough for you to say,” Mac said, sadness pervading his voice. “It’s easy for you.”

“Wolf your food down already,” Jack commanded, ignoring the conversation that was brewing between them, “we’ve got somewhere to be.”

“Where’s that?” Mac asked, starting on his own breakfast.

“Well now that’s a surprise, ain’t it?” Jack said, adding another wink.

 

 

The ballpark was small. Wooden benches extended from behind home plate out to first and third bases and didn’t go any further. The outfield fence was old and had been painted too long ago. It was starting to peel; Grey wood showing through the green paint. The place smelled like fresh cut grass, and dust. The kids yelled at each other, finishing up their drills in the outfield. Jack closed his eyes and remembered his first day at a similar park.

 

 

9 year old Jack Dalton looked up at the stands of the Little League park and thought he’d never seen a more beautiful sight in his whole life. The stands rose darn near to the clouds. High enough to hold hundreds of people, he was sure. He couldn’t wait until they were full up, people cheering and shouting. The park was so much bigger and more polished than the field his pops played ball in. They even had a real pitcher’s mound, and a fence at the edge of the outfield. From the very first moment Jack set foot on that grass he was determined to hit a ball over that fence.

“Dalton!” A voice called out behind him.

Jack turned around to find the coach striding toward him. “Are you Jacky Dalton?”

“Yes sir, I surely am,” Jack had said with a smile.

“You’re late!” The coach said.

“Sorry about that coach,” little 9 year old Jack apologized. “Had to help pops get the old truck runnin’.”

“Make sure it doesn’t happen again Dalton,” coach said. “You’re late, you’re out. Doesn’t matter if you’re good or not.”

Jack nodded, the excited smile fading from his face to be replaced with the respect he’d been taught to show any adult. “Yes, sir. You got it sir.”

“Get out there then,” coach waved toward the outfield where groups of boys were tossing baseballs back and forth.

Jack jogged out into the grass. All the boys were divided into pairs, throwing the ball back and forth, warming up their arms. One group had an extra kid, and Jack made his way over there.

No one ever disliked Jack. His pops said it was the Dalton charm, ran in the family. He’d never met a jerk he couldn’t tame. Sometimes it took them a few minutes to warm up to him, but after that they were team Dalton all the way. 

So when Jack approached the group of three he wasn’t surprised to get some resistance at first. Boys would be boys, and generally the new kid was always the one who got picked on.

“Hey guys, looks like one of you could use a partner,” Jack greeted with the biggest grin he could muster.

They all looked him up and down and somehow decided immediately that he wasn’t up to par. The biggest of the three kids pointed to their third. “You can have Jansen,” he said.

Jansen scoffed. “Come on,” he whined, “don’t stick me with the poor kid.”

Jack’s breath caught in his throat. How did they pick him out so easily? He looked down at his clothing, but nothing was threadbare, he’d been careful to pick out something that wouldn’t stand out. Maybe his runners? They were getting tight and worn down, pops hadn’t been able to afford a new pair yet. Then Jack’s eyes fell on his glove. He looked up at the other kids’ gloves: bright brand new squeaky leather. Jack’s glove was old, worn and scuffed; A hand-me-down from his cousins in Amarillo. They’d outgrown it, and he’d needed a new one. The lacing had busted free and he’d tied it up again, burning it with a lighter to get the knot to hold tight. 

Jack had wanted a new glove, but hadn’t gotten up the courage to ask his old man for one. Not since he’d overheard that terrible conversation between mama and pop. Money was tight, Jack gathered that much. Pop’s army income was going into the family ranch, still paying off debt that granddaddy Dalton had stumbled into during hard years. Pop had been saddled with that debt, and mama wanted him to dump the ranch. But pop refused. It was the first time Jack had ever heard them fight. Ever heard mama cry. And then he’d scrapped the idea of getting a new glove and was just glad he got to play the game at all.

So when those boys looked at him, and judged him based on that glove, he knew that he’d be a better ball player than all of them. Because none of them needed to work at it. None of them wanted it the way Jack wanted it. None of them knew just what it had cost to be there. Not the way that Jack knew. But he wasn’t mad. He just felt sorry for those boys.

Jack smiled wide at Jensen. “Come on then,” he said, “let’s get to it before coach comes out here and tans our hides.”

Within the hour Jacky Dalton and Danny Jansen were the best of friends.

 

 

“Hey, Jack,” Mac’s voice pulled Jack back to the present. “You ok?”

Jack opened his eyes and nodded. “Yeah, just thinkin’ about bein’ a kid that’s all.”

“Oh man I would love to be a kid again,” Mac said.

There were many things from his childhood Jack missed: the family being all together. Mama and pop being alive. But there’d been struggles too. And he wasn’t sure that he missed all of that exactly. Not sure he would ever want to go through any of it again. But damned if he wouldn’t give anything to spend another day with his pop.

“Well let’s get on out there and pretend we’re kids again,” Jack said, striding toward the outfield.

The moment their feet hit the outfield grass the kids came running. They recognized Jack right away. He was used to it. Any time he came to one of these fields the kids went crazy. Most of them had Big League dreams and were obsessed with the game.

“Jack Dalton!” The kids called out to each other. “That’s Jack Dalton!” They rushed up to Mac and Jack in a wave, surrounding them. Since it was the 14-16 age range, some of the kids were already as tall as Jack. Those would be the pitchers, no doubt. Most pitchers were the tall lanky guys; Baseball slingshots made of flesh and bone.

“Hey guys,” Jack greeted. “Just came to see if you would be interested in lettin’ us in on a game or two.”

Some jaws fell open. Some of them called out things like: “no way” or “so cool.”

But then the brave kid spoke up, the kid that reminded Jack most of himself. “If you think you can handle it,” the kid said with a smile.

Jack smiled right back. “We can hold our own.”

They divided up into teams and played a few innings. Mac’s team against Jack’s. They kept track of outs, but not runs, and it was simple and fun. The smiles on the kids' faces. The smile on Mac’s face. 

At one point Mac jumped to catch an almost-home-run right at the back fence. The kid that reminded Jack of himself called out from third: “Yeah, I guess he’s alright.” Jack could hear Mac’s laughter carry in all the way from the outfield. It was the best damn sound Jack had heard in a while.

 

 

Mac grinned like an idiot the whole ride home, his nimble fingers drumming on the dash in time with the beat of the radio.

“How often do you do that?” Mac asked.

Jack shrugged. “Couple times a year. Whenever I can fit it in,” he said.

“It’s really cool of you,” Mac said. “To do something like that for those kids.”

“Naw, it’s nothin’,” Jack said.

“You’re kind of a big deal, you know?” The smile in Mac’s voice carried into his words.

Jack nodded. No sense denying it. He was a well known sports star. “When I was a kid I was in a league in Texas. Maybe I was ten or eleven, I think. Pete O’Brien shows up to practice one day,” Jack said, unable to keep the smile from his face. “He played for the Rangers back in the day. He walked into that ballpark and I don’t think I breathed the rest of that practice. That’s the day, for sure, that I decided I was gonna be a baseball player. Wasn’t anything else in the world I wanted more.”

“So you try to do the same thing, for other kids,” Mac said. “That is awesome.”

“I do what I can,” Jack replied, pulling the car into the hotel.

The boys were waiting in the parking lot; Colton, Cage and Bozer all sat on the tailgate of Colton’s big red truck.

“What’s up boys?” Jack asked as he and Mac jumped out of the car.

“We are goin’ out Jacky boy,” Colton said, hopping down from the tailgate.

“You boys comin’ or what?” Bozer asked.

Jack shot a look Mac’s way, and the kid was still grinning so he took that for a yes. “Hell yeah we are,” Jack answered. It took him a moment to realize that if Mac hadn’t been in the mood, Jack wouldn’t have been either and they would have stayed home and watched movies. Since when had they become so co-dependent? More specifically Jack; he couldn’t be sure Mac felt the same way about it.

Mac and Jack headed up for a change of clothes and a shower. Mac’s phone rang in the elevator.

“That Ali?” Jack asked.

Mac’s smile faded a bit as soon as the phone started ringing. “Yeah,” he said simply, not meeting Jack’s eye.

“You gonna answer it?” Jack asked.

Mac didn’t pick it up, his eyes watching the floors count up instead of meeting Jack’s glare.

Jack stepped in between Mac and the elevator doors to force eye contact. “Listen man, if you don’t like the girl just cut her loose,” he said, hoping that wasn’t the case. He liked Ali. A lot. They’d become good friends. “You’re gonna have to get used to brushin’ off the ladies, especially with a face like that my man.”

Mac smiled and his cheeks reddened a little when he met Jack’s eye. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked.

Jack rolled his eyes. “Come on dude, you’re a looker and you know it,” he said, “you’re gonna have your pick of gals, so if she’s really not workin’ out for you just cut her loose and stop stringin’ the poor girl along.”

The phone continued to ring.

Mac sighed, pulled it out of his pocket, hit the green button and put the phone to his ear. The cheerful voice he mustered did not match the look on his face. “Hey Alice,” he said, saccharine. “What am I up to tonight? Well, we’re probably going out with the guys.”

Jack raised his eye brows and motioned with his hands that they should invite her along.

“I’m not sure where we’re headed yet, but we can pick you up if you want to come along,” Mac said.

The elevator doors opened and Jack just about fell on his ass as he spilled into the hallway.

“Cool, we’ll see you in twenty,” Mac said, hanging up the call. “Happy?” He asked Jack.

“That is not the question my man,” Jack said, opening their room, “you should be happy about it. Don’t matter to me.” It did, but Jack didn’t want to introduce his friendly feelings for the girl into Mac’s decision making. The rookie was way too eager to please and Jack didn’t want his opinion to effect Mac’s choice.

 

 

Mac slammed them back at the club. Drink after drink, straight down the hatch. He started with triples, eventually tapered off to doubles, and was drunk within an hour of their arrival. Alice spent most of the night helping him to sit up straight in his chair.

“He never struck me as the party animal type,” Cage commented while he was at the bar with Jack getting more drinks.

Jack ordered a regular Coke for Mac. It would be no trouble convincing the rookie it was full of alcohol since most of his tastebuds must have been burned off by now.

“Me neither,” Jack admitted to Cage, “guess I don’t know him as well as I thought I did.”

Colton was out on the dance floor romancing some girl or other. Jack knew they wouldn’t see him again for the rest of the night. Bozer and Cage had opted to have a few drinks and turn in early since they had practice in the morning, so they weren’t pursuing anybody.

“Does that guy ever spend a night alone?” Bozer asked sarcastically as he pointed to Colton on the dance floor.

“I think maybe when he had the flu last year,” Cage suggested.

“What about you Jack?” Mac spoke up drunkenly as he grabbed the Coke Jack offered him. “Any ladies you’ve got your eye on tonight?”

“Naw,” Jack admitted. “We’ve got practice in the mornin’, think I’ll keep to myself tonight.”

It had been a long while since Jack had felt the need to pick up a girl at the bar. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to share a bed with someone, it was that he wanted that someone to be more. More than a one-night stand. More than a hot girl who was looking for a conquest, hoping to be able to tell her friends she’d slept with someone famous. Jack had spent too many nights with girls like that over the years, and it hadn’t been fulfilling for a long time.

Jack watched the way Acosta was with his wife and decided that’s what he wanted: Familiarity and comfort, not just sex and lust. He wanted to see the same person everyday and share things with them. He wanted a relationship. You didn’t find relationships at the club. 

Jack had seriously dated over the years: Sarah, Diane. But in the end the women he chose were strong and independent. They weren’t baseball wives. Baseball wives chose a life that was entirely devoted to their husband and their family. Travelling around, waiting at home during road games. It was a demanding life. Not just anyone was cut out for it, and neither Sarah or Diane had been willing to give up the life they had built to follow Jack around like a lost puppy. And he wouldn’t have wanted them to, it wasn’t who they were.

Jack was staring off into the sea of people on the dance floor thinking with regret and fond nostalgia on Sarah and Diane when Alice pinched his arm and attempted to yell something over the music.

“What’s that sweetheart?” Jack yelled back.

“I think we should take him home!” She yelled louder.

Mac was swaying dangerously in his seat, despite having Alice to lean on.

Jack nodded. “Yeah, alright,” he left his last beer untouched on the table. He looked to Cage and Bozer. “You guys want a ride?”

They shook their heads in unison.

“No, no, no,” Bozer said, looking at Mac. “You can deal with that all by yourself.”

Alice and Jack each took an arm, Mac leaning more heavily on Jack, and led him out of the club.

When they arrived at the hotel Mac seemed to have a second wind and was swaying less and less, probably partially because of the stomachful of booze he’d thrown up on the drive back. Jack had pulled over and all but shoved Mac out of his beautiful car and onto the shoulder of the highway.

“You,” Jack instructed Mac, handing him a glass of water, “drink this and then go to bed.” He turned to Alice. “And I’ll give _you_ a ride home.”

“No,” Mac said sloppily, leaning over the counter toward Alice and taking her hand in a loose grip. “You should stay. Stay. Right Jack? She should stay. We like Alice. Everybody here likes Alice and she should stay the night.”

Jack sighed, crossed his arms and leaned against the kitchen counter. He ignored Mac’s drunken babble and turned back to Alice. “I can give you a ride home, if you want.”

Alice looked back at Mac. “I think I’ll stay,” she said.

Jack felt a twinge in his gut somewhere between guilt, jealousy and regret, but he couldn’t quite figure out what was irking him. Was it the way Mac was treating Alice? Was it the way Jack had pushed Mac toward her? He just wasn’t sure, but the room was full of adults who could all make their own damn decisions.

“Alright, I’m goin’ to bed,” Jack said grumpily, stomping off to his room and all but slamming the door.

 

 

Matty looked over that large stack of player bios on he desk; reading past injury reports, looking at the physicals they’d received at the beginning of spring training. Any athlete had past injuries and it was Matty’s job to know their bodies inside and out so the coaches knew how far they could push each player and what they could expect.

Jack wandered in, late, looking a little the worse for wear, wearing a grumpy look.

“You as hung over as blondie this morning?” She asked. When the team had rolled in for practice that morning she’d smelled the kid a mile away.

Jack shook his head. “Just couldn’t sleep that’s all,” he said.

“Well, Thornton’s gonna be pissed,” she said, following Jack into the gym and handing him a set of weights. “Reverse fly, three sets of ten.”

Jack sighed, rolled his shoulders out and got into position. “Yeah, he’s gonna give the kid hell today for sure,” he said, “but it’s his own damn fault.”

“Is it?” Matty sassed. “He went out to the bar all by himself, did he? Bought himself every round? Drove himself home?”

Dalton and McGarrett had been known for their party boy antics, though over the last few years they’d settled a bit with age. Creaking joints and the sore muscles of an aging body didn’t lend to being out all night and getting drunk. Matty was surprised that the new rookie would cause such a relapse in Jack. But the two were stuck together like glue and she wasn’t sure who else would have put MacGyver up to it.

Jack sighed and let the weights carry his arms down toward the floor, loose and limp.

“Hey mister,” she said, “that wasn’t ten. Start over.”

“Come on Matty,” Jack whined.

“Come on yourself Mr I Have To Play Opening Day,” she said.

Matty knew Jack well enough to know that when he was in a really bad mood he didn’t want to talk. And he was in a really bad mood. So she sat back and watched while he finished up the exercises she threw at him. Until, halfway through his resistance band exercises he piped up with something.

“Hey Matty? You remember when you said something about the rookie being connected?” Jack asked.

Matty stood up and looked around to make sure they were alone. Thankfully Thornton had called everybody but Jack out onto the field. Nobody else was in serious PT yet.

“Yes,” she said, warily.

“You ever hear anymore about that?” Jack asked.

“No, why, did you?” She replied.

Jack shook his head. “Just wonderin’.” There were some heavy gears working up in Jack’s head, she could almost hear them clanking and creaking together. “You’d tell me if you heard anymore more on that, yeah?” Jack didn’t often invest himself in the team rumour mill. If he really believed this one, there had to be something more to it. Matty’s curiosity was peaked.

Matty nodded. “Of course Jack,” she said sincerely. After a moment of awkward silence between them she added: “Alright, high to lows, three sets of ten. Then you’re free to go.”

 

 

The team shipped out again, for a shorter two day road trip. Jack and Mac sat on the hood of his Cobra watching everybody load their gear on the bus.

“It’s gonna be fine,” Jack said jovially, clapping Mac on the back.

Mac was trying hard not to look already defeated, but his shoulders were starting to slump and worry lines creased his face. “Yeah, it’ll be great,” he tried to force a smile.

“Hello boys,” Murdoc had approached from behind and startled them. He walked right up next to Jack and leaned on the car.

“Get off my car,” Jack threatened.

Murdoc completely ignored him. “For some reason I cannot find anyone to share a row with, Angus,” the pitcher said. “Would you consider being my bus buddy?” The juvenile words came out in such a creepy, positive tone that it gave Jack shivers.

“I’m good, thanks,” Mac said, his jaw clenching tight.

“Are you sure, I’d just love to spend a little more time with you,” Murdoc said, “get to know our newest player a little better. Find out what makes you tick.”

“Nope, still good thanks,” Mac said, “Sharing with Carlos.”

“Very well,” Murdoc said with a smile as he wandered toward the bus whistling. Always whistling. And Jack could never figure out why it was so damn unsettling.

“And stay the hell away from that guy,” Jack instructed.

“I try,” Mac said, “but he shows up out of nowhere.”

Jack clapped him on the back again. “The boys will have your back,” he said. Instead of dropping his hand he slid it around to Mac’s shoulder and pulled him in tight for a quick hug. “You got this. Just remember the game with those kids the other day. Keep that in mind when you’re up there swinging.”

Mac slipped an arm around Jack’s back and returned the affectionate squeeze before he jumped off the hood of the car, grabbed his bag and headed toward the bus.

 

 

Jack texted Ali that night and asked if she was busy.

It only took her forty five minutes to show up at Jack’s door. No pizza or beer this time though.

“What’s the plan?” She asked, wandering in and taking a stool at the kitchen counter.

Jack racked his brain. Worried about Mac, and Murdoc, feeling guilty for the way Ali had been treated, and dwelling on that tidbit about Mac being connected to somebody high up in the organization, Jack just wanted to do one thing.

“You like cake?” He asked.

Ali’s face creased into a confused frown. “What?”

“Cake. Girls like cake, right?” Jack asked. “Let’s get you some cake.”

An hour later they were sitting on a bench overlooking Phoenix. Jack’s car was parked behind them, doors open, radio tuned into a classic rock station. Between them on the bench was an open bakery box with a half eaten cake inside, two plastic forks sticking up out of the destruction like spears on a battlefield.

It had been quiet between them for a while. Watching the lights of the city sparkle, the cars move, listening to the soft music and eating cake there wasn’t much that needed saying. It was companionable, and once again Jack wondered what it was about this girl that Mac didn’t like.

“You know,” Ali broke the silence, “if you wanted cake, we could have just gotten cake. You don’t need to use me as an excuse.”

“I don’t know what you’re goin’ on about,” Jack scowled, frustrated that she knew him so well after only a few weeks of knowing each other at all.

Whenever Jack was feeling crappy in Phoenix there was one thing that always made him feel better: triple chocolate cake with raspberry sauce from Desert Desserts. One of Steve’s pre-season girlfriends had taken them there once and Jack was addicted from the first bite.

Alice quoted him, attempting his accent badly: “Girl’s like cake right? Let’s get you some cake.”

“Oh, come on,” he frowned, but a smile snuck up on him. “I don’t really sound like that, do I?”

Alice smiled and took another forkful of cake. “Probably not. I’m terrible at accents.” Looking out over the city, her face serious she added: “Tough guys are allowed to like cake Jack.”

There was a smear of raspberry sauce across her upper lip. “Wait, you’ve got a little…” he grabbed a napkin from the box and gently wiped away the sticky red sauce.

It said a lot for their still-new friendship that a moment like that never became sexy or flirty.

“You’re changing the subject,” she accused with a laugh, licking her lips.

“Alright, alright,” Jack sighed, taking another bite of cake. “Years ago me and Steve ended up in that bakery. We had this cake, right here, and it reminded me of my mama’s homemade raspberry tarts.” The words just flowed right out of him, like he couldn’t stop it even if he wanted to. “So whenever I’m feelin’ crappy I go buy a cake and eat it. Seemed like a good idea to have a companion tonight.”

Alice’s face got serious. “Feeling crappy?” She asked. “What are you feeling crappy about?”

Jack felt his eyes mist up. God he hated being so damn emotional all the time. Easier just to bottle it all up and never let it out. He swallowed heavily, and didn’t trust himself to speak clearly past the lump forming in his throat. What wasn’t he feeling crappy about? Mac’s problem. They didn’t have all the time in the world to fix it. And if they didn’t fix it he was going to lose another friend. A friend he’d connected with so quickly it felt like they’d known each other their whole lives. More so even than Steve. Steve was another sore point. It still killed him to think of the guy leaving him behind and not looking back. They’d still only talked on the phone once, and Steve had sounded happy. What right did he have to be happy?

“Is it Steve?” Alice asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“What?” Jack asked, jerking his gaze from the skyline to her face in surprise.

“Are you upset about Steve?” She asked. “You talk about him sometimes, but you don’t give any details.”

Jack’s brain went back to that morning he and Ali had become friends. When Steve had called and acted like nothing was wrong. Business as usual. And Alice had held him and stroked his hair and let him feel the grief of his dying friendship. But he’d never really told her what it was all about.

Jack sighed so heavily he wondered if all the breath would ever be out of his lungs. “Steve was my best friend,” he said. “And he left without saying a damn word.” It came out so bitter that it made him want to punch something. “I had to hear it from the boss.”

“Was he a player?” She asked.

“Yeah,” Jack said, “you know, sometimes I forget that you don’t know baseball from a hole in the ground. Steve McGarrett. Best friends goin’ on ten years. Playin’ on the same team together, roomed together for a while. Been through a lot the two of us. And he up and retired without tellin' me.”

Ali smiled. “Sounds rough.”

“Yeah,” Jack’s throat was closing up again and he tried to cough it away. “Took a job back in Hawaii, and moved home. It makes sense. His family’s there. His sister’s got a kid now. No reason he shouldn’t go back and spend some time with them. I just wish he would have told me.”

“He didn’t say anything?” She asked.

“One phone call,” Jack said. He took another forkful of cake, hoping it would soothe his anger and sadness. It didn't work.

“That morning on the couch,” Ali recalled.

“Yup,” Jack answered, “short and not so sweet. He ribbed at me a few times and then hung up.”

The air grew heavy between them. Neither of them knowing what to say. Jack’s mind was drawn to phone calls, and he wanted to get the focus off of himself.

“Speaking of phone calls,” Jack said, “can I ask you a question?”

Ali smiled, wide lips opening on perfect pearly white teeth. Girl should have been a model. “You can ask my anything Jack.”

“Does it bug you that Mac never calls you?” He asked.

Her eyes widened the smallest amount at the boldness of the question, and her smile faded. She looked back out at the city. “Not really,” she said unconvincingly. “I get it. He doesn’t want to get attached.” Her voice was sterile, like she was assessing a situation she wasn’t completely buried up to her neck in.

“You think that’s what it is?” Jack asked.

“Spring training is over in a few weeks,” she said, “then you guys leave and don’t come back for another year. So, I get it. He doesn’t want to get attached to some girl that’s a temporary thing. So he keeps his distance.”

“But you’re still stickin’ around,” Jack said, “doesn’t it bother you.”

She smiled wide, but her eyes were welling up a bit and he could hear the sadness in her voice. “I like you guys,” she said, “seemed like something to take my mind off the fact that I’m unemployed and living with my mother at the age of 31. It’s fun while it lasts.”

Jack nodded, took her hand in his, intertwined their fingers and held them tight. “Damn right it is.”

 

 

The third bat broke two games after they got back, in the very first inning. Mac struck out, stormed off the diamond and into the tunnel back down toward the clubhouse. The whole team heard the sound of ash on metal echoing back up that hallway, but they all kept their eyes on the field like they were deaf to it.

Jack jumped up from the bench and followed the sound back down the hall where he found Mac sitting against the wall, the remnants of his bat all around him like a bomb had gone off. He’d hit it against a metal doorframe until there was almost nothing left. The look of defeat on the rookie’s face was heartbreaking.

Jack slid down the wall to sit next to him.

“What’s goin’ on with you, man?” Jack asked.

Mac pulled his knees up and rested his forearms there. “Have you ever wanted something so bad, but you just weren’t good enough?” Mac asked.

“Alright that’s enough,” Jack said, standing back up. “I’ve about had it up to here with your ‘I’m not good enough’ bullshit.” Jack motioned back toward the field. “You’re good enough for this, but you’re all caught up in that damn head’a yours. Stop tryin’ so damn hard and just go out there and have fun.” It killed Jack to do it, but he walked away, back out to the dugout and sat down in his spot near the end of the bench, jaw clenched tight with frustration, or worry, he wasn’t sure which.

Mac emerged finally, and sat next to Jack.

They didn’t say a word, just sat next to each other.

“MacGyver, you’re in the hole, let’s go!” Coach called out.

Mac stood up from his spot next to Jack and walked to the rack full of bats at the end of the dugout. He stopped dead, his hand held out, hovering over the bats.

“What’s the problem MacGyver?” Coach asked.

Mac pointed down the hallway he’d had his hissy fit in. “That was my last bat.” There was a tremor in his voice.

“Grab a spare,” coach said.

Mac grabbed one, then another, then another.

Jack made his way slowly down to the rack. “What’s up?” He asked.

“None of these are right,” Mac said, panic creeping into his voice. “The weight’s off. There aren’t any here the same as mine.”

“Borrow one,” Jack said. “Hey Cage! Mac can borrow one of your bats, yeah?”

Cage’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “I… don’t think so Jack.”

“Come on man,” Jack pleaded.

Colton spoke up next. “Nobody’s gonna lend him a bat,” he said, his voice cold like they weren’t friends outside of the game. “Not the way he’s been breakin’ ‘em.”

“Nobody asked you Billy!” Jack snarled.

Colton was right. The way Mac had been throwing bats around there was no way anybody was going to lend him one. Guys took to their gear like nothing else, they weren’t going to chance it in the hands of somebody like Mac. Normally Jack would feel this same way. But this was Mac.

There was one bat. One that was about the right size and weight. One that might work. Without thinking about what he was doing, Jack walked down to the end of the dugout where his bag of equipment sat and grabbed his lucky bat. He brought it back to Mac and shoved it into his hand. He didn't tense up as Mac's hands closed around it.

Mac looked down like he was holding a piece of glass. “Jack, I can’t-”

“Then you ain’t hittin’ today,” Jack said quietly, leaning in toward Mac. “Make a decision. Are you gonna play? Or are you gonna sit on the bench and watch? Trust me, just watchin’ ain’t no picnic.”

Mac’s jaw tightened and his eyes lit up with determination. “Thanks Jack,” he said.

“You girls done?” Thornton asked. “MacGyver’s on deck.”

Mac hopped up the few stairs and stood in the little circle that denoted the On Deck hitter. He swung back and forth, getting accustomed to the grip and feel of the new bat.

Acosta hit a double, and then Mac was up.

Jack didn’t return to his seat at the end, but stood against the dugout fence, every fibre in him tight with nerves. What would it mean if Mac broke the lucky bat?

“Wait,” Bozer said behind him, “Jack, is that your lucky bat?”

Jack didn’t reply. The whole dugout tensed right up. That bat wasn’t just Jack’s lucky charm, it was the whole team’s lucky charm.

Mac’s stance was relaxed and perfect, just the way it had been the first day Jack watched him in the cages. Lithe and powerful. Ready.

The first pitch was high, and Mac laid off it.

The second pitch was outside and, again, Mac didn’t swing. Something was different, the rookie had been swinging wild at any pitch that came his way, but he seemed to have his eye back again.

The third pitch was a fastball right across the plate. The moment it left the pitcher’s hand Jack knew it was a good one, and his brain screamed: swing!

Mac’s body tensed and with that perfect twist of strength and speed he connected with the ball and sent it flying past the outfield and into the stands.

A home run.


	13. The City of Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spring training has flown by. Jack and Mac are headed back to Los Angeles for the regular season.
> 
> Jack opens up about his past, and introduces Mac to someone new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to N1ghtshade for beta reading!!!
> 
> Also: I am the WORST at Chapter Summaries... sorry!

Jack tucked the last Metallica shirt into his bag and turned back to the dresser. He double checked every drawer. Empty. That was it, he was all packed and ready to head home. Back to his little apartment, to live all by himself again. 

He hated to admit it, but he was going to miss rooming with Mac. Mac, who poked fun at Jack in that way that meant affection, who snorted when he laughed too hard, who had this way of looking at Jack like he mattered. Jack was accustomed to attention, people looking at him like a hero, but the way the rookie looked at him was different. It was ease laced with caring; something Jack had never seen in someone’s eyes before. Except maybe Steve. But it just wasn’t the same.

Jack left his packed bags on the couch and leaned in Mac’s doorway. His roommate was folding each and every piece of clothing precisely before he lay it gently in his bag.

“What on god’s green earth are you doin’?” Jack asked.

“Packing,” Mac answered, like it was a stupid question.

“Just shove it all in there and let’s bounce,” Jack said.

Mac chuckled and continued his precision folding. “I packed a very specific amount of stuff very strategically,” he said, “if I fold it just right it will all fit. It won’t take long, I’ve got this down to a science.”

“You are such a nerd,” Jack joked, “my sister packs faster than you. And less, I think.”

Mac smiled, but didn’t reply.

Jack just stayed in the doorway watching Mac walk back and forth from the dresser to the bag, his body easy and relaxed.

As soon as Mac had taken that lucky bat from Jack’s hands and hit that first home run, things had changed. Whatever had been going on in his big brain had calmed right down and focused. Over the following four weeks, his batting average had skyrocketed and even with his initial failure, he had one of the highest spring training batting averages on the team. Probably in the entire Arizona league. Colton only had him beat by a few points, which was a sore spot for the Louisiana slugger and caused a little friction between the two of them.

Jack was dying to get into a game again. Watching Mac improve had been great; the grin the rookie wore every time he got on base was electrifying, and sent a thrill down Jack’s spine. But he wanted to be out there too. Wanted to follow up Mac’s double with a hit that would send him back home. 

Only a few days left before playing alongside the team again would be a reality. Only a few more days until Steve threw that last pitch.

Above all Jack was just glad they’d figured out Mac’s issues. Even if the solution had been a superstitious lucky bat. Because the Mac folding clothes into perfect, neat little piles was miles away from the Mac who’d been breaking bats in frustration.

Ecstatic that his rookie was sticking around for regular season play, Jack just wasn’t looking forward to heading back to LA and losing his roommate. The thought made him lonely.

“You’re just gonna stand there and watch?” Mac asked, with a grin.

“Not anymore,” Jack joked, turning back to the living room. But then his eye caught something in the corner of Mac’s room and his heart clenched.

Jack’s lucky bat was leaned up against the wall in the corner. Mac didn’t leave it at the clubhouse. He brought it home every night and kept it close, the same way Jack had always done. What the hell were they going to do when that bat broke? The thing was going to break eventually, all bats did, especially hitting the way Mac had been.

A knock at their door drew his attention, and Jack left behind that unsettling thought to find out who it was; Alice maybe?

As soon as the door was opened, Thornton wandered in without invitation like he owned the place. The smile on his face was stiff, but Jack had never seen he guy relaxed in nine years. “I heard you were leaving this morning,” coach said, taking a seat at the kitchen counter, “glad I didn’t miss you.”

“Steve’s flying in tomorrow,” Jack explained, “I promised to pick him up.” With the few days break they had between spring training games and the start of the regular season, most of the players took their time packing up and heading back, but Jack had made Steve a promise.

“Of course you did,” Thornton replied, “you bringing the kid with you?”

“Course,” Jack replied, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes. They’d see Thornton again in a few days. The fact that he’d come down to say goodbye in person meant he wanted something.

Thornton pitched his voice low so they wouldn’t be overheard. “I just wanted to come down here and let you know how much I appreciate you helping the rookie figure things out,” he said. “Before things get crazy, I just wanted to thank you for that.”

Jack nodded and stayed silent. That couldn’t be all it was.

“You know there was a lot of pressure on me to get that sorted,” he said, “that pressure’s not gone. I need you to keep him on track for the season. Can you handle that?”

There it was. Keep Mac in line, keep him performing or else. The threats never ended. And why the pressure from up top? Who was putting the pressure there? If Mac knew somebody high up why did it matter if he was performing? Too many questions. But asking Thornton was not the way to get answers. As much as coach liked to play the buddy-buddy game, Jack had seen him drop that facade too quickly too many times to believe it was real.

“He’ll be just fine Pat,” Jack said, using Thornton’s first name to let him know he was serious. “He’s got his head on straight now. He won’t let the organization down, I can promise you that.”

Thornton’s smile faded, his face serious and he stood up. “You just remember that you made me that promise Dalton.” There it was, like flicking a switch from friendly to threatening.

Jack smiled and clapped Thornton on the shoulder. “Don’t you worry padre,” he said, “you’ll never meet a Dalton that don’t keep his promises.”

Thornton leaned in. “Good, or-”

“Yeah yeah,” Jack cut him off, “or you and me are out on the street lookin’ for new jobs. I feel you man.”

Thornton nodded. “Glad we’re on the same page.” He walked back out into the hall and left the door open behind him. “See you guys in LA.”

Jack flipped him a mock military salute before pouring himself another cup of coffee. He didn’t even bother to close the door; no point, they were already almost packed and ready to go. Anybody that wanted to stop by and wish them a good drive was more than welcome.

“Guys?” A soft sweet voice drifted in from the hallway. A knock on the open door. “Mac? Jack?” Alice wandered into the small apartment, looking around. She didn’t see Jack standing in the kitchen, a mouthful of coffee. A worried look crossed her face until she caught a glimpse of Jack’s bags on the couch and relaxed.

“Ali! Sweetheart!” Jack greeted once he’d swallowed the hot acidic mouthful.

“Jack,” she smiled as she turned toward him. And that smile lit up the whole room. He was going to miss that for sure. “For a minute there I thought you guys left without saying goodbye.”

Mac probably would have. “Leave our best girl without a goodbye?” Jack said. “Never.” 

“Your only girl, I hope,” she said with a wink.

Jack just nodded. “Hey Mac! You almost done, princess?” He called loudly toward his roommates’ bedroom.

“Almost!” Mac called back.

“So what’s the plan for Ali now?” Jack asked, sliding a cup of coffee toward her and continuing their comfortable friendship while they waited for Mac.

A confidence stole over her face. “I’m working on something,” she said mysteriously. “A kind of… job interview.”

“Well that don’t sound ominous at all,” Jack said, genuinely concerned. It sounded like she was keeping a secret, something illegal maybe?

“Nothing like that Jack,” she said. “I just don’t want to say too much until I know more. It’s a luck thing. Kinda like your bat.”

“I gotcha,” he said conspiratorially.

“You ready?” Mac asked, dragging several large bags into the living room and heaving them onto the couch.

“Am I ready?” Jack asked. Full sarcasm. “Am _I_ ready? I’ve been ready for at least an hour. We’re waitin’ on you hoss.”

“It hasn’t been an hour since-” Mac turned to find Alice watching him, and his face froze up like it did whenever she was around. Like he was hiding something from her. “Oh. Hi.”

“I just wanted to stop by before you left,” she said, twisting her fingers together. “Say a quick goodbye.” The emotion was starting to come out in her voice.

Jack cleared his throat. “You know, I think I might’a forgot my… favourite… pair’a underwear,” he said hastily before he booked it for his bedroom to give them a minute. Being the gentleman that he was he didn’t listen to anything they said, but made a show of rummaging around and opening and closing drawers loudly. His pop didn’t raise him to be an eavesdropper. Unless it might be something real juicy. But this was just going to be sweet goodbyes.

He gave them a good ten minutes before he returned to the living room and leaned in his bedroom doorway. “Nah,” he said to let them know he’d returned. “Guess I must’a packed ‘em.”

Mac just shook his head and rolled his eyes at Jack’s pathetic excuse. The two lovebirds were standing just a few feet away looking like awkward grade-school kids at a sock hop.

“We’ve gotta go if we’re gonna make it in time for…” Mac trailed off, looking to Jack for help.

Jack shrugged and shook his head. If Mac wanted to lie to the girl, he could figure it out himself. They had nowhere to be. Jack was chomping at the bit to be back in the city of angels again, and he liked Ali too much to encourage lying to her.

Mac just let the half finished lie hang obviously in the air between them. How was it that such a good looking guy was so awkward with women?

“Sure,” Alice said finally. “I get it.” The emotion choking her throat could have been heard all the way back in LA. “Yeah, you guys should get on the road.”

“Bring it in girl,” Jack said, walking toward her and opening his arms up for a hug.

The plumping of her cheeks when she smiled at him almost spilled the tear that was forming in her eye. She took him up on the hug and stepped into it. Jack wrapped his arms around, squeezed tight, and lifted her off her feet.

“I’m gonna miss you girl,” he said softly into her ear as he set her down. “Thanks for everything.”

“You bet Jack,” she returned softly. “You need to know that I really had fun. You’re a good friend.”

He cradled her head with his hand as he set her down.

“Alright, well…” she trailed off and looked down at her fingers that were wringing together again. “Good luck.” She smiled one more time and walked to the door.

“Keep in touch now y’hear?” Jack called after her.

“Oh, I will,” Alice said as she walked out the door without a backward glance. There was something ominous in the way she said it.

From the wide eyed fear in Mac’s eyes, he’d heard it too.

 

 

The first thing Jack did when he climbed behind the wheel of his Shelby Cobra was to take pops’ dog tags from around his neck and hang them on the rearview mirror. Tradition.

Mac reached over, grabbed one of the tags and pulled it toward him to read. “Your dad?” Mac asked.

Jack nodded. “Pop always loved a good road trip, so he always gets the best seat in the house.” He started the car and revved the engine. He looked from Mac to the dog tags and back. “You boys ready?”

Mac smiled affectionately and nodded.

“Alright, let’s bounce,” Jack said, throwing the car into drive and peeling dramatically out of the parking lot.

The five hour drive gave them plenty of time to talk. And not once was the conversation or silence between them awkward.

Mac sat in the passenger seat, twisting paperclips into shapes with his Swiss Army Knife and telling Jack the story about the day his grandfather had given him the bright red pocket knife.

Jack shared stories about his pops, and the family ranch; that damn dog of his father’s that had hated him and chewed him up that one time; how proud he was of his father’s war record. These were the stories he hadn’t told Mac while they were playing ball. When he’d been trying to get Mac to focus and hit, he’d only shared his baseball tales. Some of them were personal, sure, but talking more about his family and his home seemed like something different. More serious.

The trip flew by, and when they reached LA, Jack didn’t want to drop the rookie off. Five hours cooped up in a car together and Jack just wanted to keep talking. So he decided not to drop him off.

“Hey man,” Jack said, “why don’t we head back to my place, order some food for lunch?”

“Sounds great,” Mac said, finishing with another paperclip and setting it aside.

 

 

Jack looked around his place, happy to be home. It wasn’t much, but it was Jack’s. The whole place was a strange collection of stuff he’d amassed over the years. A bank of theatre seats instead of a couch, a picnic table instead of a real dining room table, his Telly Savalas painting. All in all it was an eclectic mix. 

Once again his thoughts were drawn back to his absent best friend. Steve’s apartment had been the complete opposite of Jack’s; fairly modern looking, sparsely furnished. But in one corner, hanging from the ceiling he’d had a model helicopter. It was a Sikorsky MH-53. The very copter Jack’s dad had flown in during his pararescue missions. Steve always said if he got rid of it, Jack would be the one to get it. But Steve said he’d cleared out his whole apartment, so where had that damn helicopter ended up? Another small betrayal to add to the pile.

“What are you feelin’?” Jack asked, trying to distract himself from his pesky feelings. “Chinese? Pizza?”

“Chinese sounds good,” Mac said, wandering around Jack’s place as though he were already at home.

Jack ordered their food and watched Mac wander around.

“Interesting decor decisions,” he mocked, pointing at Jack’s picnic table.

“What can I say?” Jack said, “I’m an interesting guy.”

“Got that right,” Mac said quietly. He stopped in front of the glass fronted cabinet that Jack kept his memorabilia in. “Jack?” Mac turned around, a look of concern on his face.

Jack finished up on the phone and joined Mac at the display case.

“I think you’ve been robbed,” Mac said an edge of panic creeping into his voice as he pointed at a small empty wooden base inside the cabinet.

Jack’s dad had made it custom back in the day. Three little pegs sticking up at odd angles from a wooden base. The perfect base to display a baseball. But it had been empty for a long time.

“Naw,” Jack said, opening the door of the unlocked cabinet. He took his dad’s dog tags from around his neck and hung them on the little pegs. “Hasn’t been a baseball on there for years and years.” He tried not to let the emotion creep into his voice, but it didn’t work.

“So, why do you have it then?” Mac asked.

Damned if Jack didn’t feel the urge to share his whole life with the rookie. And it didn’t bother him one bit, so he spilled the story out like it was nothing at all. “My dad had a baseball when I was a kid. And, man, it was precious to him. He loved that thing. It was signed by the 1958 Chicago Cubs. Pop’s favourite team. Signed by the whole team. Roger Hornsby’s name was on that ball. It was up on this little stand here in our living room, on the top of the bookshelf. Every year, during the World Series, he’d take that ball down and let us hold it. I felt like I was holdin’ somethin’ magic, just from the way my dad looked at it, you know?” Jack chuckled to himself, feeling his eyes well up at the memories. “You know, I remember this one year my ma had just given us brownies, and my hands were all covered in chocolate. And he took that ball down and gave it to me and I got this big ole chocolate fingerprint smack in the middle on the back. Thank the lord in heaven I missed all of the signatures, or my hide would’a been tanned. I even offered to clean it off for him, and my pop snatched that ball back from me so quick it was gone before I blinked.”

Mac huffed a chuckle. Jack had almost forgotten he was there, and turned to look at him. Those big blue eyes were so intent on Jack and his story, so invested in this little piece of him.

“But the next year, just like nothin’ had happened the year before, he took that ball down and let me hold it again,” Jack said.

“Probably checked your fingers first,” Mac added.

Jack smiled and nodded. “You and my pops woulda’ got on well I think.”

Mac’s eyes sobered when he looked back down at the empty stand. Jack saw the realization hit him, and then Mac asked the question: “So what happened to it?”

“Well, we didn’t have a lot, when I was growin’ up,” Jack said, swallowing hard, eyes on his dad’s tags to keep him grounded. “I got accepted to the University of Texas on a partial sports scholarship to play baseball for the Longhorns. Pops knew it was all I wanted to do, and he didn’t want to see me roped into the military with no other choice. So, to cover the tuition that my scholarship didn’t, he sold that ball.” Jack felt his face break a little, and tried to get his composure back, but damn did talking about his old man ever hurt. Afraid to look at Mac, he stared into the case.

“So you kept the stand,” Mac said, urging Jack to continue.

Jack smiled and swallowed the lump in his throat before he looked back at Mac. “Yeah, I kept it. Reminds me where I came from I guess. How much my old man gave up for me.”

Mac smiled, and there was some kind of longing there. “Just once I wish my dad would have given something up for me,” he said bitterly. “The only thing he ever really gave up on _was_ me.” The rookie hadn’t really talked about was his own dad. Just his grandfather. When they first met he’d told Jack that his dad hadn’t been around, that his grandfather had raised him. But beyond that the subject seemed taboo. 

Maybe the rumour mill was wrong this time. Mac talked like he didn’t have any family left, and if he’d had a falling out with his dad, and the rest of his family was dead and gone, then who would be pulling strings for him? There had to be something more to it.

Jack didn’t talk. He wouldn’t push. That was how it was. They didn’t push each other. Their friendship didn’t work that way, it was all about what they wanted to put in. Not what was expected of them. Despite the nagging rumours floating around in Jack’s head, he kept silent to see if Mac would provide any more, but the silence stretched between them.

Jack dried his eyes as subtly as he could, but he saw Mac shoot him a sad smile at the motions.

“Come on, let’s find somethin’ good on the PVR while we’re waitin’ on lunch. You seen The Conjuring?”

 

 

Full of Chinese food, Jack and Mac climbed back into the car. Reluctance was hanging around them like a cloud.

Jack decided to put it out there and see if it was just him. “You, wanna go for a beer before I take you home?” He asked.

Mac’s face lit up at the suggestion. Wasn’t just Jack then, neither of them wanted to go back to being alone. “That sounds awesome,” the rookie said enthusiastically.

“Perfect. I know a great place,” Jack smiled.

He pulled up in front of his favourite pub ten minutes later.

Elwood’s was so far from the ballpark, Jack had never seen a jersey in the place. Not even on a game night. Which was a blessing. Sometimes it was just nice to be able to get away from all of that and enjoy a quiet beer. It helped that there wasn’t a TV in the place. One of the few bars left where he could just listen to music and avoid the outside world for a while.

The door had barely closed the late afternoon light out behind them, when Jack heard a familiar voice call out.

“Jack!” Riley said from behind the bar, ignoring the customer sitting in front of her. The smile on her face was wide, her generous lips stretched to reveal a pearly white smile. Black hair stuck out at all angles from the messy bun it was wrangled into, and her warm brown eyes were rimmed with thick black eye liner.

“On the house,” she said to the customer as she grabbed the nearest bottle, poured a shot and slid it to him before coming around the bar to give Jack a hug. “We missed you around here,” she said as she squeezed him tight. The jeans and t-shirt she wore were well loved, and Jack was pleased to see she was still wearing the leather cuff he’d given her.

Once his eyes adjusted to the dark and he looked around, he found that the place hadn’t changed in the two months he’d been gone. It never changed, which was most of its charm. A dingy hole in the wall that catered to regulars who sat at the same stool every day and ordering the same thing, Elwood’s felt like home to Jack. With no room for a kitchen, they served booze and peanuts with a snarky attitude, and if you didn’t like it you could get the hell out. Been that way since Riley's mom was in charge. But something about the place was comforting. The combination of old rock posters and beer paraphernalia nailed to the walls, and the smell of sour beer that had been spilled somewhere and never cleaned up made Jack want to heave a sigh of relief and sit down on a stool because he was finally home. 

“Who’s the new guy?” Riley asked as she stepped back from Jack and shot a look in Mac’s direction.

“New rookie,” Jack said with a grin. “Put him through his paces, won’t ya?”

Riley’s face grew serious and she raised an eyebrow, eyes still on Mac. “You bet.”

Mac held out his hand, ever the gentleman. “MacGyver,” he said.

“Riley Davis,” she replied, taking his hand. From the look on Mac’s face Riley’s grip was tight as ever.

She smiled. “What kinda name is MacGyver?” She asked, stomping back behind the bar in her combat boots.

Jack and Mac sidled up to the bar together and took two stools. “Well it’s Angus MacGyver actually,” he said, cringing as he said it. “But my friends call me Mac.”

“Does that mean I get to call you Mac?” Riley asked, her bartender flirtatiousness surfacing automatically. Without asking what they wanted she took out two glasses and started pouring beer.

“Any friend of Jack’s is a friend of mine,” Mac said, clapping Jack on the shoulder.

“Damn straight,” Jack said.

“Mac it is then,” she said sliding two pints toward them.

“So, who’s Elwood?” Mac asked, referring to the name of the pub.

Riley’s eyebrows shot up and she looked at Jack. “He really gets to the point doesn’t he?”

Jack just shrugged, and took another sip of his beer, trying not to smile.

Riley leaned her elbows on the counter her face deadly serious. “Elwood is my old man,” she said. “He took off when I was a kid. Any more questions?”

Mac’s face had gone white and he sat still like he was facing a grizzly bear. Like, maybe, if he didn’t move he could just back away and not get eaten alive.

“I didn’t think so,” she said turning back to Jack, the smile returning to her face like sunshine when a cloud passes over. “So, how was Phoenix?”

Jack started to tell her everything, from the beginning: Mac showing up as the new rookie; helping him with his at bats. Mac knew everything, they didn’t have any secrets, but he still wore a look of surprise at Jack’s willingness to spill everything to some young bartender. But Mac didn’t know the history there.

As Jack neared the end of his spring training adventures, Sam wandered out of the back. Without saying a word she came up next to Riley and leaned against the bar to listen. She’d been that way as long as Jack had known her: quiet, thoughtful, and sneaky. Jack knew to be careful around her, he’d learned from experience that she was always watching and always listening, and she was good at reading people; made for a good bartender.

Mac looked at Sam like he’d seen a ghost. And it only got worse when she started talking.

“Well Jack,” Sam said after he’d finished, “sounds like you’ve had quite the year so far.” Her voice was soft, her Aussie accent pleasantly rolling off her tongue. Her eyes flicked to Mac. She didn’t even wait for him to ask. “I see you’ve met my brother.” She held out her hand across the bar for Mac to shake. “Samantha Cage. But you can call me Sam.”

“Are you serious?” Riley asked, standing back and crossing her arms. “It took at least a month before you’d let me call you Sam!”

Sam shot Riley a sly smile before returning her attention to Mac, who had finally taken her hand. She looked just like her brother Mark, her face all hard angles, hollow cheeks, and deep set round eyes. The major difference being that her blonde hair was long and tied up tight. But she was lanky and skinny just like her twin. Wearing loose casual clothes it was hard to tell; a button up shirt over an army green t-shirt bulking her up a little.

“I’m Mac,” the rookie stuttered, still put off by her resemblance to his teammate, finally realizing he should be shaking her hand and not just holding it awkwardly.

“Nice to meet you Mac,” she said, not even asking about the strangeness of his name. “And good to see you back here with us in the city of angels, Jack.”

“It’s good to be back Sammy,” Jack said with an affectionate grin. 

It had taken him a long time to warm up to Sam. But she’d been around a few years now and didn’t look to be going anywhere. After a year he’d finally given in and stopped giving her the cold shoulder, for Riley’s sake.

Sam ignored the playful glare Riley was shooting her way and kept her eyes on Jack. “Where’s Steve?” She asked, but there was a knowing look in her eye like she already knew something was wrong.

The question cut straight through to Jack’s heart. Like he’d just been punched in the ribs. All the air left him for a moment. He hadn’t even thought about how he’d have to keep dealing with that. Jack and Steve were a duo, they went everywhere together. Had gone everywhere together. There were a lot of people who were going to ask after him. Nobody outside of the team knew yet, though he had a sneaking suspicion that Sam had an idea. She always seemed to know things she shouldn’t, like a damn psychic or something.

“Steve’s flying in tomorrow,” Jack said. “Picking him up in the morning.”

“He didn’t go to spring training?” Riley asked, genuinely concerned. She’d gotten to know Steve pretty well.

Sam just leaned against the back counter, a knowing look in her hazel eyes as they continued to bore into him.

“He…” Jack faltered.

“He had some family stuff to deal with,” Mac picked up Jack’s sentence with a smile without missing a beat. “Had to go back home for a few weeks.”

Sam smiled approvingly in Mac’s direction. Now that was a look Jack hadn’t seen often from her and he could swear he almost saw her nod at him like they were conspirators.

“Make sure you bring him in, alright?” Riley requested. “I missed _him_ too.”

Jack hadn’t even thought about that. So wrapped up in his own misery over losing Steve to Hawaii, he hadn’t even thought about the other people who would miss him. Namely Riley. Jack had known her since she was a teenager, and had always just wanted stability for her. Despite the fact that she was an adult he was worried about having to tell her that Steve was leaving. Well, Steve loved Riley like a daughter too, so he’d make Steve tell her himself. Make that selfish bastard face up to the consequences of what he was doing. Of what he had done.

“Ok, Jack?” Riley asked again, looking concerned at his delayed response.

“Yeah,” Jack nodded. “A’course.” He’d been so lost in thought he couldn’t even remember what he was agreeing to.

“Hey,” Sam grabbed Riley’s shoulder. “I wanted to go over that stock order with you quick. I think these boys can keep each other company for a few minutes.” She shot Jack a knowing look as they retreated to the computer at the other end of the bar. 

Sam’s hand lingered on Riley’s shoulder while they talked over the glowing screen. They weren’t the most affectionate couple in public, and with Jack’s old south upbringing it had taken him more than a little while to get used to the idea of Riley and Sam being together. Probably one of the other reasons he’d been so hard on Sam at first, and so reluctant to warm up to her. But in the end they were happy, and that was all that mattered to Jack: Riley’s happiness. If he was honest with himself, they were probably one of the most healthy relationships of anyone he’d ever known.

“You ok?” Mac asked, sipping casually at his beer and trying not to sound concerned.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack said. “Course. I should probably take you home though, right?”

Mac shrugged. “I’ve got nowhere to be.”

 

 

Eventually it was inevitable. Mac needed to go home. Jack had to take him there.

“This is your house?” Jack asked as he pulled up the driveway to park in front of the one-level house situated in the Hollywood Hills. “Why in the hell did we eat lunch in my crappy apartment when you live out here?”

Mac smiled in response. “It was my grandfather’s house,” he said simply, as though that explained away the amazing location. “He left it to me when he died. There wasn’t a lot of stability in my life. He wanted me to always have a home to come back to.”

Jack nodded, thinking about the family ranch that his dad just hadn’t been willing to give up, no matter the cost.

The air in the house was stale from being locked up. Even if someone had been coming to check on the place for Mac, there was no substitute for a lived in house. But it wouldn’t take long to air out.

The house was rustic, like stepping from Hollywood suburbia into a hunting lodge. Jack loved it. Stone fireplace, wide open high ceilinged living room. 

And the deck. Jack would have killed someone for that deck. The moment he stepped foot on the worn boards and looked out at the sun setting on the Los Angeles skyline his heart stopped. That perfect orange sunset over the buildings and hills as lights blinked on all across the city. Jack couldn’t breath. He never wanted to leave, just pull up a chair and rest his bones there for the rest of his life.

Footsteps climbed the stairs behind him, but he couldn’t even turn around, couldn’t look away. A cold beer was pressed into his hand.

“Dude, this is awesome,” Jack said.

“I know, right?” Mac said, swigging from his beer.

Jack looked down at the bottle in his hand and hummed and hawed over it. “You know, I had a few at the bar and I’ve still gotta drive home,” he said, holding the bottle out to Mac. “I shouldn’t.” The hesitation in his voice was evident. All he wanted to do was sit on that deck and watch the day turn to night while he sat next to Mac. Going back to his little apartment seemed like a sad option.

“You know, the caretaker knew I was coming back and stocked the fridge,” Mac said. “So, I’ve got a ton of food. You could stay in the spare room and then we can make breakfast before we pick up Steve tomorrow.”

They had become we. In the last six weeks it had gone from “you and I” to “we” without Jack noticing. How had they become so close so quickly?

“Sounds like a plan bro,” Jack said, tipping his bottle to clink against Mac’s before taking a sip.

Mac smiled in return. “Fire pit’s all ready to go, I’ll get it going.”

Jack hadn’t even noticed the fire pit for the view, which was saying something considering it was a giant hole in the middle of the deck.

They sat together until the night deepened to morning, watching the skyline, telling stories and laughing together. There was never any awkwardness, just companionship. And Jack knew that he should be careful because the people important to him almost always left. But instead of listening to his head, he went with his gut and threw himself head long into this new friendship, wearing his heart on his sleeve like he always did.


	14. Aloha Los Angeles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is back in town for one last hurrah. It's not as easy as he thought it would be to say goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to N1ghtshade for beta'ing and helping me get through my writer's block!!!
> 
> And to Lavendersblues for the final beta (and ALSO inspiration and help)!!! 
> 
> YOU GALS ARE THE BEST!!!

The moment the airplane door seal broke, Steve felt the change; gone was the scent of the salty ocean on the air that pervaded all of Hawaii; gone was the beautiful humidity that was pleasant, but not stifling like it was in LA; Gone was the easiness in his bones that he felt whenever he had his feet planted firmly on his island.

He flooded out of the plane with the rest of the passengers, buoyed on the sea of people arriving, grateful and excited to meet and greet their loved ones. Steve didn’t share their enthusiasm. He had when they were cruising 7 miles above the ground. But now that they’d landed he was just nervous. More than anything he didn’t want to see the feeling of betrayal hiding behind Jack’s contagious smile. Until it happened, Steve was going to be waiting for the confrontation, for Jack to ask: why? Why didn’t he call? Why did Thornton have to break the news? Why did he leave without saying goodbye?

Steve didn’t have a good answer. He’d been searching his brain for one, but had come up blank.

With every step he took toward baggage claim his throat clenched a little tighter until he didn’t know if he’d be able to breathe at all.

But then, there was Jack, leaning casually against the wall in Arrivals, a sign reading “Five-0” held out in front of him. Steve relaxed immediately. He heard Jack’s laughter ripple out over the crowd; it always carried like he was pitching it for a full ballpark.

Steve had expected Jack to be excited, to be watching the crowd, ready to wave at the first sight of Steve’s face, a head taller than most of the crowd. Instead he was distracted by the skinny kid standing next to him. They were joking and laughing. Jack even playfully shoved the kid against the wall after which they fell against each other in hysterics. Jack almost dropped the sign he was holding before he realized what he was doing and turned to face the crowd again.

Immediately they locked eyes. Steve smiled, the smile he reserved for close family and friends. His other smile was all PR. Too many years practicing that one in front of a mirror meant it looked good at every angle, but the family smile was something else: goofy and lopsided and carefree.

Steve gently pushed his way free of the crowd, dropped his bag next to Jack and pulled him into a big hug. Jack’s arms tightened around him and squeezed the words out of Steve: “It’s good to see you brah.”

Jack smelled like the outfield grass, like he’d been rolling around in it, and it tugged at Steve’s heart. It smelled like home. The place that had been his home for the last 9 years. So when Jack tried to pull away, Steve hugged him tighter, afraid to let go of that smell, let go of his home.

A nervous cough next to them broke the spell and Steve let Jack go, though they both backed away from each other slowly.

The blonde kid stood next to them, looking wary. Steve had always been pretty good with people, but he couldn’t get a read on the newcomer.

“Right,” Jack cleared his throat. From his misty eyes he’d gotten a little emotional at the reunion too. “This here’s MacGyver. New rookie.”

The blonde kid held out his hand. “You can call me Mac.”

Steve put on his PR smile and took the hand; strong grip. “Steve McGarrett.”

“I know who you are,” the kid all but croaked out before Steve could even finish saying his own name.

“Alright,” Jack said, clapping his hands together. “Where we off to first?”

Steve was eager to get out into the city and say goodbye. See all of his favourite places, catch up with the boys. “Let’s drop my stuff,” he said, “and then meet up with the boys.”

Steve reached down for his bag, but Mac’s nimble hands and lightning quick reflexes beat him to it. “Don’t worry, I got it.” There was something in the kid’s face, just for a second. Reverence, maybe. Then he pushed it back below the surface for a forced smile that was awkward and charming at the same time.

“Thanks man,” Steve said, clapping the rookie on the shoulder before turning back to Jack. He took the sign from Jack’s fingers and held it up to take a look. “Look at this sign,” he said as Jack put an arm around him and steered them for the exit. “This is great. You make this?”

“You know me,” Jack answered, “anything for my boy.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve swore he saw Mac make a face at Jack’s statement. Eyes widened, jaw tightened, but only for a second.

“Honestly,” Steve turned his attention back to Jack, “I didn’t even know you could spell.” The lazy grin wandered back across his face as Jack barked laughter at him. Steve clutched the sign close. It was definitely coming home with him in his luggage.

 

 

“This place hasn’t changed one bit,” Steve said as he wandered around Jack’s apartment and looked over the oddities he’d always loved. 

Jack puffed up his chest proudly. He loved his apartment. It was quirky, but he loved it. “What, did you expect it to change over night? It ain’t like you been gone even six months.”

“Where should I put this?” Mac asked, Steve’s heavy bag weighing him down.

“Toss it in the spare room,” Jack motioned toward the back of the apartment.

“You have a spare room?” Mac asked, looking around as though it were a mystery.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack said, pointing again, “that door there, next to the bathroom.”

“Gotta say Jack, it’s refreshing that some things never change,” Steve said, hopping up to sit on the picnic table that took the place of dining room table. Something about it always made him think of the ballpark, eating hotdogs and drinking soda from paper cups.

“You sayin’ I’m stuck in my ways?” Jack asked with that cocky smile.

Steve hemmed and hawed over that, trying to get a rise out of him.

“Ummm Jack?” Mac called out from the spare room. “Somebody put a bed in this closet.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Thanks, smartass. That’s the spare room.”

Mac shook his head. “No.”

“Whadya mean no?” Jack said, walking back to talk to Mac in the spare room doorway.

The two started talking in low tones to avoid Steve overhearing the squabble. Their heads ducked close together, scoffs and sly smiles shared between them, Steve would never have believed they’d only spent spring training together. They wore their friendship like a lifetime of familiarity. 

“Hey Steve,” Mac said over Jack’s shoulder, casually standing so close together. “I’ve got a ton of room at my place. You should come stay with me.”

Steve’s heart skipped a beat. He’d come to see Jack. Spend time with Jack one last time before he left for good. Sure, he’d come back to visit once in a while, most likely years apart, but the future was unsure and he wanted one last hurrah with his best friend. Staying at the rookie’s meant less time for that.

“You sure?” Steve asked. “I can stay here, no problem.” A little white lie. He hated Jack’s spare bed. He’d never tell the guy but it was like a torture device.

“Have you seen that room?” Mac asked, pointing back toward the converted walk-in closet. “It’s like a little prison cell.”

“Slept one off here a time or two,” Steve admitted with a grin for Jack. Though Jack was still looking at the rookie with a mix of gratitude and nervousness worn plain on his face.

“It’s no problem,” Mac said, “I’ve got lots of room.”

Whatever emotions Steve had seen in Mac at the airport were either gone, or locked way up inside. He seemed perfectly at ease now. And staying with the rookie wouldn’t be so bad. Jack and the kid seemed to have a close enough relationship that hopefully he wouldn’t mind letting Jack stay late a few nights. Everything would work out just fine.

 

 

“This is your house?” Steve asked as he got out of the car at Mac’s place. The one-story house sat at the top of a steep driveway, looking down on the street. A street full of homes worth millions of dollars. Steve had always envied neighbourhoods like that in LA, but even with his clout and fame he’d never been able to score a place.

“Yeah, it was my grandfather’s place,” Mac said, “he left it to me.”

A trust fund kid, no doubt that rankled Jack with his modest upbringing. Steve had known Jack’s dad for a few years before he’d passed. Never was there a sweeter, kinder man, but up to the end he was a down to earth everyman, and Jack had never meshed well with those that took things for granted in life.

The rookie opened the trunk of Jack’s car and pulled Steve’s bag out of it. So that’s how it was. Jack didn’t let people touch his cars, and he especially didn’t let them open the trunk of the Cobra. There was a problem with the latch and when most people tried to pry it open they almost broke the thing. Apparently the rookie knew the trick, and had permission to touch Jack’s precious baby. Interesting.

Jack came around the back of the car and clapped Mac casually on the shoulder on his way by before throwing an arm around Steve and dragging him up the front step. “This place is insane, you’re gonna love it,” Jack said, “better accommodations than the Hilton Hawaiian that’s for sure.”

“Well that’s a tall order,” Steve said, wondering just how much time he’d spent at the kid’s place. Spring training had only ended a few days before.

“King size bed man,” Jack continued, “you’re gonna sleep like a baby.”

He’d slept at the place too.

Mac followed behind them, Steve’s bag slung over his shoulder while Steve and Jack waited for the door to be opened.

“Come on man, where’s the hustle?” Jack asked Mac, friendly and full of mirth.

“I’m not the doorman,” Mac joked back. “Open it yourself.”

“With what, genius?” Jack replied. “A paperclip and some chewing gum?”

Mac reached into his pocket and flicked a key in Jack’s direction. The outfielder caught it expertly.

“With your key smart ass,” Mac’s warm smile was focused entirely on Jack, who wasn’t paying attention to the affection that was shining on him. 

As soon as the rookie noticed Steve was watching though, his emotions slipped back under the surface and he was cool, calm and collected on the outside. Where did that come from? The instinct to hide himself from everyone? The two were definitely an interesting pair: Jack wearing his heart on his sleeve every moment of the day, and Mac trying to hide everything behind icy eyes. 

Mac pulled out a second key and handed it to Steve. They’d stopped on the drive up so Mac could get one cut for Steve, but he hadn’t said anything about making one for Jack. 

Steve hadn’t trusted Jack with a key to his place for years.

Jack let them into the house, and immediately added the new key to his key ring.

“Back this way,” Mac said, turning the corner around a large cartoony-looking fake stuffed polar bear.

The place sure was eclectic. Hunting cabin meets dorm room. Another thing these two had in common: a love of bizarre interior design. 

It was about as far from Hawaii as Steve could imagine being. And he missed it already. Even though LA had a similar climate, there was just something about the island that made him relax when he breathed the air. It was in the way the ocean was never far, the salt touching everything around him; sun warming every surface so he could breathe that warmth on the air; the scent of tropical flowers woven into every inhale. Hawaii was home in a way that LA would never be. No way to explain it to a mainlander.

Steve dropped his bag on the bed and followed Mac back to the living room.

“You gotta see this deck, man,” Jack said, as excited as if he was showing off his own place. “You won’t even miss your beach while you’re here.”

Steve followed him up some stairs and onto the big, wide, deck. A fire pit and a wide open view of the LA skyline awaited him. It was pretty impressive. It had nothing on his backyard with its private beach and blue ocean that went on forever, but he’d never tell Jack, not when his buddy was so excited.

“My home is your home while you’re here,” Mac said politely. “So feel free. Firewood’s over here if you want to start a fire,” Mac lifted the lid on the woodbox and let it drop again. “Fridge is full of beer, and there’s lots of butter for your coffee.”

“Oh yeah? Has Jack converted you then?” Steve asked, grinning.

Mac shook his head. “Hell no,” he said, “I think it’s disgusting.” A casual answer. Steve was glad the rookie was starting to relax, it would make his stay way less awkward.

“That’s what Danno says too,” Steve answered, mind suddenly drawn back to the angry little coach from Jersey that he’d taken a liking to immediately.

“Danno?” Jack asked.

Steve nodded and smiled to himself. “My assistant coach back in Hawaii,” he explained. “Annoying little loudmouthed guy. But he’s good people.”

The hurt in Jack’s face was palpable. Steve didn’t want to feel guilty for moving on, but he did anyway.

“So…” Mac broke the tension in the air. “How long are you staying?”

Steve had been hoping to avoid this topic for a little while, he didn’t want to see anymore hurt on Jack’s face. “Just a few days,” he said, walking to the deck railing and looking out. “My flight leaves the afternoon after opening day.”

“You’re serious?” Jack asked from behind him.

Steve steeled himself and turned around. Jack’s face was an odd combination of angry and sad, like he wasn’t sure exactly how he felt but he was sure trying to feel something. Steve had decided early on that it would be better for everyone involved if his stay was short. The longer he stayed, the more it would feel like old times, like he wasn’t leaving. That wasn’t fair to anyone.

The look on Mac’s face was completely different and so easy to read it was like it was stamped on his forehead in big block letters: relief. Despite the bit of reverence Steve had seen at the airport, despite the kindness, Mac didn’t want him around. Things were getting more and more interesting by the second.

“Yeah,” Steve said, feeling flustered and letting it read in his tone, though it came our harsher than he intended. “It’s the start of the season in Hawaii too. I’m the head coach, I can’t just leave for weeks at a time. Coming down here is good publicity for the new team. It’s the only reason management let me come at all.” 

Jack had never understood the business of the game, he’d just wanted to play; hit baseballs and catch flies. He’d never cared about moving on and moving up. But Steve knew that his body wasn’t going to last forever, and there was no better time than the present to take an opportunity that would let him be back home with his family, and still involved in the game.

Jack’s emotions, as always, were right on the surface and Steve watched a thousand feelings flit across his features. But Steve couldn’t do it anymore, and needed to get away from the accusation in his best friend’s eyes.

“I gotta hit the head,” Steve said, more dismissively than he would have liked.

Jack swallowed hard, choking back his emotions the way Steve had watched him do the entire time they’d been friends. Trying to man-up, like Jack’s father would have told him to do. “Yeah,” Jack’s voice was gravelly. “Then we’ll head out and get you a burger.”

Steve found the bathroom easily enough and leaned against the counter. This was going to be harder than he’d expected. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t called Jack. Why he hadn’t come to see him and talk about it before he’d left. Because it hurt too much for him too. But it was the right choice.

After a reasonable amount of time, Steve emerged from the bathroom. Standing at the door to the deck he watched Jack and Mac, sitting at the edge of the fire pit. They were laughing together already, even after Jack’s show of weakness. Jack giggled and leaned into the rookie, like he needed support for whatever had him in stitches. Mac leaned back the same way, clapping Jack on the back and leaving his hand there.

A fiery green streak of jealousy shot through Steve, surprising him. How could Jack have found another friend so quickly to replace him? Someone he could laugh with five minutes after he looked like he was going to cry his eyes out? Nine years of friendship and Jack was moving on, just like that? Was Steve so easily replaced?

Then his rationality kicked in and he realized he was being an idiot. He wanted Jack to move on, that was the whole point. Steve was leaving and he wasn’t coming back, it was comforting to know that Jack wouldn’t be totally alone.

But the longer Steve watched the two of them laugh and tell jokes, the more he realized that this was different. The casual touches lingered, and the looks the two gave each other were friendly, but there was something else hiding beneath the surface. He’d known Jack long enough to see that this wasn’t just about friendship. This was something more than that.

 

 

Steve had lived in LA for almost nine years. In those nine years, he’d spent way more time than he’d care to admit to anyone in Elwood’s. And over that nine years the place had never changed. When Sam and Riley had gotten really serious and moved in together, Sam had moved the tables around, staggering them differently. It had lasted all of two days before she’d moved them back. Even Sam admitted that it just didn’t feel right to change anything.

So when Steve walked into the bar, and it smelled exactly the same as it had those nine long years ago, he breathed it in deep, holding it at his core. Like he’d be able to take a piece of it home with him to Hawaii and smell it whenever he wanted. The dank, sour smell was perfect and he never wanted it to change.

Almost as soon as he set foot on the threadbare green carpet, Riley yelled: “Uncle Steve,” and vaulted over the bar, not even bothering to go around. The grin on her face almost stopped his heart and she almost knocked him over when she jumped into his arms.

Steve cradled her head and held her feet up off the ground. “Riles!” He swung her back and forth just like he’d always done. Like she was still a little teenager. She felt like family in his arms, and it was like someone had hit his fragile glass heart with a hammer. He felt crushed. What had he done? She didn’t know. Had no idea that he was here to say goodbye, Jack had warned him on the way over, but it hadn’t prepared him.

Steve set her down and pulled back, trying to tuck several pieces of hair behind her ears, and failing like he always did. Her hair had always been its own beast, never able to be tamed.

“Jeeze,” Jack grumbled on his way to the bar, “she wasn’t that excited to see me.”

“I’m glad you’re back,” Riley beamed at him. “Jack said something about your family or something? Is everybody ok?”

Steve swallowed hard. “Yeah, everything’s alright,” he assured her, trying to speak through the shards of his heart that were cutting his throat to pieces with every breath. “How about let’s get me a beer and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Riley led him over to the bar, and walked around it this time. She didn’t even ask, just poured Steve his regular brand and slid the glass across the counter.

“What about me?” Jack asked, mock offended. “I’m thirsty too.”

“And me,” Mac piped up with a smile on his face as he leaned a little too close to Jack. Already playing off each other, Steve really was being replaced. But he tried to remind himself that it was what he wanted, though secretly deep down he hoped Riley would be devastated, that someone would miss him when he left. Which was unfair and he immediately chastised himself for the thought.

Sam was just finishing with another customer at the end of the bar and started toward them. Steve put on his best Aussie accent, which was terrible, and pitched his voice for the whole bar to hear. “Oi, sheila! How about coldies for me and the dags?” He motioned over to Jack and Mac.

Sam’s face didn’t even break at his terrible accent and use of her home country slang. She walked slowly down to see them, and leaned across the bar patting Steve on the cheek, almost hard enough to be a slap. “You’re a few stubbies short of a six pack aren’t you?” She replied, her accent growing even thicker than normal with the slang. Her smile took up her whole face. There had always been something kindred between him and Sam, something that Steve didn’t even share with her twin Mark. Part of it was that she always called him on his bullshit. Somehow she just always knew the sound of the truth.

The door opened behind them, and the sound of voices filled the empty little pub. Steve knew them immediately: the rest of the boys had come to meet them for drinks.

Steve turned away from Sam and opened his arms wide.

Billy, Cage, Bozer, and Carlos all pushed through the door, fighting to be first inside, like high school kids.

Back slapping hugs ensued, followed by everyone bellying up to the bar.

“A round for my fine friends here!” Steve called out to Riley, motioning to the boys.

Riley stopped in her tracks and widened her eyes, looking over at Jack.

“Steve McGarrett paying for a round?” Jack laughed. “This I gotta see.”

“Alright,” Riley said, as though she thought Steve was going to change his mind. “Let me grab everybody’s drinks and then you can tell me about whatever’s going on with the family,” she said to Steve.

A flicker of nervousness shot through Steve, and when his eyes broke away from Riley, he found Sam staring at him. The smile was gone from her face, and she looked a horrible combination of angry and sad. She leaned across the bar far enough that she could whisper to Steve without anyone else hearing. He leaned in closer.

“Don’t tell her until later,” Sam said sharply.

“Tell her what?” Steve asked.

Sam grabbed his wrist and held it tight, her eyebrows crinkling sadly before she regained her composure. “Wait until closing to tell her you’re not coming back.”

Steve swallowed heavy. “But-”

“Steve, you don’t have to deal with the aftermath, ok?” Sam said. “Have you ever tried to work a bar by yourself while your girlfriend’s comatose in the apartment upstairs?” Her eyes were serious and hard.

“Hey sis!” Cage slipped up to the bar next to Steve. “You gonna make your girl get all them drinks? Or you gonna pull your weight around here?”

Sam shot Mark a cold look. He got quiet and his smile faded immediately. A solemn nod was all he gave her before he turned back to the other guys.

“I’m serious Steve,” Sam said, before letting go of his wrist and turning to help Riley fill orders.

Riley was in good hands. Jack wasn’t ever leaving LA, he loved it too much, he’d always be around. And Sam loved her girl more than Riley could know. Steve didn’t have anything to worry about. It wasn’t like he was leaving her all alone with no one around. And it wasn’t like they were family.. Family was the reason he was leaving. He’d spent so much time with all of these strangers, surrounded by strangers, but what had he done for his own family? When had he been there for them? During the offseason? Only to leave them behind at the drop of a hat to head back to his team. For what? Money? He needed to start putting family first.

Riley came back down the bar balancing an impressive load of drinks. There hadn’t even been any order taking, she knew all their drinks by heart.

When she came to Billy, he slipped the glass from her fingers and grasped her hand tightly in his own, not letting her get away.

“Riley, Riley, Riley,” Billy said in his pick-up voice, batting those eyes of his and leaning on the bar. “When are you gonna come to your senses and see what’s right in front of you, baby?”

Not this again. Steve almost groaned out loud. Since they had met, Billy had been of the opinion that all Riley really needed was a big strong man to set her straight. Literally.

“Billy,” Sam sounded unimpressed to say the least. “I’m standing right here.”

Billy ignored her, eyes still on Riley. “Keep it in mind my caramel goddess,” Billy kissed her hand lightly and let her have it back.

Riley didn’t immediately let go, but leaned in close, eyes heavily lidded, a warm smile on her face. She did love playing with him. And she was good at it. “Hey Billy?”

“Yeah?”

“Convert it to cash and tell it to the tip jar,” she said harshly before snatching her hand back and continuing to distribute her drinks.

“Caramel goddess?” Bozer sounded affronted. “That is my pickup line Billy! You don’t just steal somebody’s pickup line like that man!” Bozer laid a playful punch on Billy’s arm, and then they backed up from the bar and started to wrestle in earnest.

Riley slid a beer to Jack and then to Mac. She leaned on the bar, smiling at Mac. “See, Billy is under the impression that I just need a big strong man to-”

Jack cut her off, cringing. “Ok, ok, ok, I don’t really wanna hear about what he thinks a big strong man can do for you.”

The scuffle proved enough of a distraction to prevent Riley from asking him anymore questions, since she had to jump in and pry the two idiots apart. And the rest of the night worked itself out just like every other night they’d all spent at Elwood’s: telling stories, fighting, drinking, and making up. In a way they were a kind of family for Steve. But they still weren’t blood.

 

 

Steve stacked another stool at the end of the bar. The very last.

The rest of the boys had gone home. Just Jack and Mac left, lingering by the entrance, waiting for Steve to break the news to Riley. They stood by the door, leaning close to each other like the pub was still full of noise despite the fact that the music was on low and there was no one else left around. Their laughter echoed across the empty room making Steve feel empty. Casual touches accompanied their conversation; a hand on a shoulder, arms rubbing against one another, a playful shove. 

Steve looked down at the stool he was still clinging to like a liferaft, then toward where Sam stood by the store room door, arms crossed, looking at her shoes.

“Hey Riles,” Steve’s voice cracked.

“What up, Uncle Steve?” She asked, leaning against the bar, the smile lighting her face making her look sixteen again. But she wasn’t sixteen. She was an adult, running her own business. She could handle the truth, if Steve had faith in her.

“I got some bad news,” he wanted to add “kiddo” to the end, but refrained, keeping to the “this is an adult conversation” theme.

Riley’s smile fell. “What’s going on?” She glanced over to Jack, and back to Steve again. The two of them were linked in her mind.

God he wished he’d left two stools down so they could sit and talk about it. Instead he stood there awkwardly, more afraid than he’d ever been in his life. She didn’t want anyone to know, but she was so delicate, and he didn’t want to break her. She was like Jack in that way.

The words weren’t coming out. How did he say what he needed to say? And why wouldn’t Jack and Mac just quit their laughing and talking and sounding happy? It was killing him inside to be having this conversation while Jack sounded like he was starting a whole new life ten feet away.

“I’m moving home,” he said quietly.

Riley’s mouth quirked up into a half smile and she repeated: “Home?” Lord help him she was confused, because she thought his home was LA. With them. With her.

He felt his face crumple, felt his eyes sting. Big tough McGarrett could run full on into the outfield wall and not bat an eye, but couldn’t have a simple conversation without tearing up.

The look in his eyes hammered it home for her, and her mouth fell open in a shocked circle, her eyes widening to match. The pain that bloomed across her features was torture for him, and he reached out for her arm but she shook it off. Her eyes searched the air like she could find answers there. Then her jaw tightened, and she pushed that hurt down and let the anger surface instead, taking away his right to see her most tender emotions.

“When?” She asked, loud and bitter.

Jack and Mac stopped talking. Steve heard the familiar swing of the back room door as Sam left the room.

“Couple days,” Steve croaked out. “But it’s not like-”

“Yeah,” Riley cut him off with that word that meant nothing, except to stop him from talking. “Well, don’t bother coming back before you go. It’s been good knowing you Steve.” The dropped “Uncle” hurt him more than anything he had prepared himself for.

“Riles,” Steve reached out to take her arm again, but she dodged his hand.

“It’s fine,” Riley said, a shaky breath following the statement, indicating that she was not at all fine. “I’ve gotten used to people leaving.” Not another word, she turned on her combat boots and all but ran down the bar to slam through the doors to the back room.

Steve started to walk toward those doors, but a strong hand grabbed him from behind and spun him around.

“Not tonight,” Jack said, his eyes red. “Just give her a few days, she’ll come around.” The strain in his voice made his words pitch higher than normal. Maybe he’d been laughing with Mac, not because he was starting a new life, but because he’d been as nervous about this whole thing as Steve was.

Jack threw his arm around Steve and pulled him toward the door, hugging their sides tight together.

“I don’t have a few days,” Steve said, feeling hysterical. “I won’t be here in a few days.”

“I know,” Jack said, and the bitterness almost knocked Steve over.

Mac held the door for them, like an usher at a funeral, as Jack steered Steve out into the brisk LA night air. As the door closed at his back for good, Steve bid Elwood’s a tainted farewell he’d never intended to give.

 

 

Steve climbed out of Jack’s car, fully expecting Jack to follow them inside.

“Early night for me boys,” Jack tried to sound his chipper self, but it just didn’t come out right. “Training tomorrow, and I wanna be right for opening day.”

“Alright man,” Mac waved. “See you in the morning. You picking us up?”

“You know it!” Jack returned before he sped off more quickly than he needed to.

So Steve followed Mac into his house. This kid he’d just met. What did they have in common other than baseball and Jack?

“One more beer?” Steve asked, curious to learn more about Mac without Jack around to muddy the waters.

“Sure,” Mac said. It lacked enthusiasm, but Steve got the impression that Mac saved his enthusiasm for Jack. 

Mac grabbed two beers from the fridge and passed one to Steve.

They stood awkwardly at the kitchen counter, sipping their beers in the dim silence.

“Why don’t we…” Mac motioned to the deck.

Steve just nodded and followed.

The fire pit was cold, and Mac made no move to light it. No point anyway, they wouldn’t be up much longer, but the warmth would have been nice in the cool night air. Steve stared into the ashy mess and all of his thoughts were bent on Riley. Would she ever forgive him? Was Jack right, and in a few days she’d get over it? Somehow Steve didn’t think so. Riley had been left behind right at the start, and being left wasn’t something she forgave.

Steve needed to get his mind off of it. It was done and there wasn’t anything he could do to change it. Staying just wasn’t in the cards. So he turned his gaze to Mac, whose cold eyes were surveying Steve from a distance. The rookie looked at ease, cocky on his home turf.

“So, you and Jack are pretty close?” Steve said before he took a swig from the bottle. Why not just come right out with it.

Mac’s eyes flickered away to the skyline. “Yeah, he’s a good guy,” he said, and there was some kind of regret tucked into that statement.

“He’s the best guy,” Steve defended. “Never known a better man in my whole life.”

Mac’s eyes met Steve’s again, accusatory, his nose flaring when he spoke. “Then why didn’t you call him?”

The kid had guts. He wasn’t holding anything back.

“I’m pretty sure that’s none of your business,” Steve frowned.

“It is my business when my friend’s involved,” Mac said, and then plowed ahead. “You know, he’ll never say it to you, because as much as he can be a big blubbering idiot, he seems to think that showing emotion is a weakness. But it really hurt him. To hear from coach and not you.”

Steve was getting mad. This puny little rookie had known Jack for all of five minutes and had the guts to assume Jack’s thoughts and intentions. Jack was a big boy and could take care of himself.

“You know what kid?” Steve spit the last word out like a curse; he knew it would offend the late-blooming rookie. “This is between me and Jack. And I don’t think he’d be very happy, you sitting here and talking about him blubbering like an idiot.”

Mac ignored the insult, and ignored the threatening tone. “Why? Why didn’t you call him?”

Steve threw back the rest of the beer, but it tasted like acid. Hadn’t he dealt with enough? Why did this whole thing have to be a fight with everyone, even people he didn’t know? Why couldn’t anyone be happy for him? He set the bottle down, leaned his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands. “What does it matter to you?” Steve growled out.

Mac’s words were quiet, and pained. “Because he’s my… friend.” The hesitation hammered it home for Steve. There was definitely something more happening between the two of them than just simple friendship, though now Steve wasn’t quite sure exactly who was in on the secret.

Steve was so tired of fighting. He hung his head and rubbed at the back of his neck, the muscles there tense.

“It was a choice between two families,” Steve admitted. “The family that’s blood, and the family I chose. But in the end, blood is blood.” He looked up to see Mac watching him, but his face was so guarded Steve didn’t know what to make of the expression. “I love Jack, but it wasn’t even a choice.”

Mac’s features wavered into sadness and pain, before he ducked his head to look at the label he was peeling away from his beer bottle. “I wish I knew what it felt like to have a choice like that.”

Steve’s head cleared, like he’d had his first breath of fresh air since he stepped off the plane. Who was he to judge anyone? Steve’s life had been smooth sailing. Sure, he’d spent years away from his family, but in the end he was famous around the world and had all the money to show for it. But this rookie, he was struggling for all the things that had come so easily to Steve. Who was he to be angry with Mac? Steve wasn’t anyone at all, and he didn’t know a damn thing about Mac.

“Well, you’ve got Jack now,” Steve said, chest tightening. It felt like he was letting Jack go, giving him away. Giving someone else the rights to Jack’s friendship, or maybe even more.

Mac quirked a smile at the beer bottle in his hand, but didn’t look up.

Steve couldn’t deal with the emotions anymore. It was too much for one night and his head was starting to ache in tandem with the way his eyes hurt from holding everything back. McGarrett’s just didn’t talk about their feelings, and usually didn’t address them aloud either. But there was one more thing that needed to be said.

“Jack’s a good guy. Been my best friend for… a long time…” Steve said, feeling the ragged edges of his emotions tearing at him, but doing his best to ignore it. Like pretending he hadn’t pulled a muscle in the middle of the Ninth.

Mac finally met his gaze. It wasn’t with cold anger, or outrage or defence, but curiosity that he looked at Steve.

“Be careful with him,” Steve warned. “Guy wears his heart on his sleeve. And he doesn’t always know what’s best for himself.”

“Don’t worry,” Mac said, determination set in that perfect square jaw of his. Damnit, PR was gonna love that square jaw. “I’ve got his back.”

Steve quirked an eyebrow at that comment. “Just seems like you watching his back might be a bit more about you getting close to him.” He put as much behind that comment with his eyes and his tone as he could.

“I don’t know what you-”

“You know exactly what I mean,” Steve cut Mac off, protective tone heavy with implication.

Having the last word was an essential in Steve’s life. One of the things Danno fought tooth and nail against. The look of shock on Mac’s face meant he wouldn’t be able to access his vocal cords for another few minutes at least. So Steve made his exit, leaving his empty bottle on the kitchen counter before seeking out his King size bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS FIC IS NOT ABANDONED!!! I promise!!!
> 
> I had some WICKED writer's block! 
> 
> Also: even though I'm through my writer's block... I went back to work full time... so... I'm just not getting in as much writing time... but there is more coming! I promise!!!


	15. Too Soon For Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve spends the last day before Opening Day saying his goodbyes.
> 
> And watches Jack and Mac get closer and closer by the minute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you N1ghtshade!!! FOR BETA!!! You are the BEST!!!
> 
> Also: thank you to everyone for continuing to leave such suppotive comments on this fic!!! Those comments really have spurred me to keep writing this through my writer's block!

Steve sat on the bench in the clubhouse, looking at the locker that used to be his. MacGyver was now painted over the top of it, in brand new bright white letters. Right next to Dalton. The kid really had replaced him. In every way: He was a slugger with a pretty face that PR was going nuts over; he was Jack’s new best friend, Mac and Jack barely spent any time apart; and now even Steve’s locker had been painted over in favour of the rookie. Steve swore he could even see the painted-over lines of “McGarrett” trying to make themselves known.

Steve sighed. The next day was opening day. The last day. Instead of coming into the clubhouse, like he had a million times before, and pulling his stuff from his locker to get ready for the game, he’d walk in with a gym bag that held his uniform. He’d get dressed with the guys, but it wouldn’t be the same, the divide would be there. And then he would walk out for the ceremonial first pitch of the year just after Thornton announced to the park that it would be Steve’s last game. He’d walk out all alone in front of everyone while the team waited in the dugout. The thought curdled his stomach. It wasn’t that he was shy, or didn’t like the attention. But without a lot of the guys on the team, he wouldn’t have ended up being who he was. Leaving those guys out of a moment like that felt selfish and just… wrong. Specifically Jack. Jack Dalton was hugely responsible for who Steve had become, professionally and personally. Steve was a better man for having known him. And now he stood on the precipice of letting that go forever, of throwing it away like it meant nothing.

Except that wasn’t true, and Steve knew it. Another habit he’d picked up from Jack: being overly emotional. Looking at it objectively, he’d been away from his family too much and too long and he needed to go home. The opportunity was there and he had to take it, because it was once in a lifetime and it would never come again.

Steve stood up, took the wrapped box he’d brought with him, and left the lockers behind. It was a moment he knew he would never forget, and it sent a bolt of regret through him. But it was too late for regret, and he kept walking.

The team was all out on the field running drills, and the clubhouse was empty of players, but buzzing with coaches and staff. Several times Steve had to put his back to the wall of a hallway so he wouldn’t get bowled over by someone making preparations for Opening Day.

When he got to Thornton’s office, it was already occupied. By Murdoc. Steve decided to wait outside and leaned his back against the wall next to the door. It wouldn’t take long, they’d left the door open after all, so it probably wasn’t a long meeting.

“-telling you I know what’s going on here,” Murdoc’s voice carried into the hall.

“What the hell are you going on about now Murdoc?” Thornton asked.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” the pitcher’s voice was low and threatening. “You don’t think I could sell this story to the press? You don’t think I would?”

“What story?” Thornton sighed.

Steve knew exactly how coach felt. Murdoc had been a pain in the ass to work with. Always trying to get between all the team members. Causing trouble and drama.

“Ahhh,” Murdoc breathed out, and Steve could hear the smile in it. “You don’t think anybody knows. It wasn’t that hard to piece together you know.”

“You should be warming up, Murdoc,” Thornton’s voice was getting curt and tight. “Get the hell out of my office.”

“Didn’t think anybody knew where the connection was did you Patrick? Somebody’s been pulling the strings from the offices upstairs and you didn’t think anybody would find out?” There was triumph in Murdoc’s voice. “I find out everything.”

“Get out,” Thornton said sternly.

“Oh Patrick,” Murdoc sighed, “I sense that you and I are going to start agreeing more and more often.”

“Get the fuck out of my office Murdoc,” Thornton’s tone wasn’t anger, it was defeat, and suggested that he’d had enough of the creepy pitcher for the foreseeable future.

Murdoc walked out into the hall and stopped short when he saw Steve.

“Steven McGarrett,” Murdoc said quietly. “What a pleasant surprise. I thought you were retiring to some beach somewhere and we’d never see you again. I mean, since everyone has completely replaced you already, I had assumed that to be the case.”

“Not quite yet,” Steve said with a half smile. He’d always tried to be diplomatic with members of his own team.

“No, no. You have been completely replaced in all aspects of your life,” Murdoc assured him.

“I meant,” Steve said through gritted teeth, “that I’m not gone yet. After tomorrow I’ll be out of your hair.”

Murdoc smiled wide. “Well, I best be along to warm up with the boys.” He rubbed his hands together and strode up the hallway.

Steve shook his head and tried to shake away the encounter. When he turned into the doorway again he noticed that Thornton was on the phone, and opted to wait in the hall until he was finished.

“Yes. Yes. No, you don’t understand,” Thornton’s voice carried to the hall even though he was pitching it low. “Murdoc’s asking all the wrong questions. I think he knows something.” A pause. “Yes. I know but-” Another pause. “I understand that, but what I’m suggesting is that you just trade that damn creep! He sets the rest of the team on edge anyway.” Another pause. “It doesn’t matter to him if it’s his teammate. He’ll wreck his own team for a good time, he doesn’t care. At least if he’s on another team it might just look like false accusations because he’s bitter.” Pause. “Yeah, I’ll see what I can do.” A loud bang indicated Thornton slamming the receiver down.

Steve turned into the office.

“Oh! McGarrett!” He’d surprised the coach, which was a rarity. Murdoc’s visit must have really put him on edge.

Steve sat down in the chair across from the desk. “Coach,” Steve greeted. “I just wanted to stop by and say that you’ve been a real inspiration to me and-”

“Come on,” Thornton interrupted. “Stop right there. If I was a good coach we would have won more than one World Series with Dalton and McGarrett on the field.”

Steve smiled. Thornton wasn’t the greatest coach. He’d been a great player back in the day, but he wasn’t a great coach. Steve was just being diplomatic.

“Well then,” Steve said with a smile, “I guess you’ve been teaching me what not to do all these years.”

Thornton laughed at that, but it was short and controlled. He held out his hand, which Steve shook firmly.

“Can’t say I’m glad to see you go,” Thornton said.

“Same goes here, but I couldn’t-”

“I know,” Thornton said before Steve could finish.

After an awkward pause, Steve held up the box he carried. It was wrapped in smooth brown paper. No writing or tags on it.

“I need a favour,” Steve said.

Thornton looked intrigued.

 

 

After Steve had deposited the wrapped box with Thornton, he made his way to Matty’s office, saying his goodbyes along the way to the rest of the staff. Another one of those things Jack had taught him: be generous and appreciative of those under you, it makes life a whole lot more pleasant. Jack always knew the names of all the people who worked around them. The people who weren’t famous and didn’t get their faces on TV every other night during the season. And Steve had followed suit. So his goodbyes were extensive from the coaches to the bat boys to the grass crew.

Finally, after an hour of heartfelt and heartbreaking conversations, Steve reached Matty’s office and poked his head inside, knocking on the open door.

“Busy!” Matty said, eyes still on her computer.

“Really?” Steve asked, walking into the office and plopping down in a chair. “Cause I got this terrible pain in my neck.”

Matty’s concentration changed to a smile as she looked up, but didn’t let surprise creep into her features. “It’s probably the big fat swollen head that’s sitting on top of it,” she replied, “causes a lot of neck strain. I see it all the time on this team.”

Steve laughed and leaned forward, elbows on Matty’s desk.

“I’m glad you stopped in Steve,” she said.

Steve. He wasn’t McGarrett to her anymore, he was already Steve. Another thing to make him sad. Another thing he was leaving behind. Another way his world was changing.

“If you’re looking for Dalton, I think he’s out with the guys doing drills,” she said.

“Nah!” Steve waved his hand in the general direction of the field. “Why would I wanna talk to that idiot? I’ve been talking to him for nine years.”

Matty’s smile at that joke was a little sad. Did he see pity in her eyes?

“Nah,” he repeated, “I came to say goodbye to the prettiest PT in the business.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere McGarrett,” she said sternly, but with a hint of a smile. “That’s sexual harassment and I’ve put in complaints about Dalton for much less.”

“Sorry, I don’t work here anymore,” he said. “Complain all you want and they can’t touch me anymore.”

“I’m glad you came by,” she said.

“How’s Ethan and the girls?” Steve asked. The loose friendship they’d developed over the years had often led to pleasantries about family.

“They’re good,” she said. “Really good. Angela still has her eyes set on running away with the circus.”

“She’ll grow out of it,” Steve said. “My sister wanted to be a mermaid until she was 11. She was convinced it was an actual job.”

Matty laughed. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Steve asked as he stood up abruptly. Afraid of saying goodbye with such an awkward air hanging between them, he just wanted to get out of the room.

Matty nodded. “I’ll be around.”

 

 

Steve opened Mac’s door with his key and led the two exhausted ball players inside.

“That was the longest day I have had in years,” Jack complained as he beelined for the fridge and grabbed a beer.

Mac followed along behind him and snatched the cold beer from his fingers, stowing it back in the fridge.

“Really?” Mac asked, frustrated. “You’re really gonna sit here and have a beer after all that? Get a water.”

Jack made a pouty face at Mac.

“Do what you want, but I am not going to listen to you complain tomorrow,” Mac threw up his hands and walked away.

Steve watched Jack’s face change from “you’re such a killjoy” to “you’re right” as he watched Mac walk away from him. Jack grabbed three waters from the fridge and tossed one to Mac and one to Steve.

Steve smiled at the comfortable domesticity shared between Mac and Jack.

They all trekked out to the deck, and Mac started up a fire to help ease the hurt from their muscles with its heat.

Steve waited to sit down, letting Mac and Jack take up space just a little too close to each other, before he took a place on Jack’s other side.

They shared a companionable silence, sipping their waters and letting the fire warm them through.

Steve had been watching Mac and Jack throughout the day on the field, during practice and drills. They gravitated to each other, like they were magnetic. Steve had never seen anything like it. They’d be set up in lines, Jack on one side of the field, Mac on the other. And as soon as the drill was called to a stop, they would just find each other in the crowded field of players and coaches. Like they couldn’t bear to be apart for more than a few minutes at a time. It made Steve ache inside, and for a while he thought it was jealousy; that maybe he wanted Jack to need him that badly, but it wasn’t that. Steve wanted to be wanted so much by someone that they were drawn to him from a distance. It hollowed him out with wanting. Not that he wanted that person to be Jack, or Mac, but he just wanted to find whoever it was and never let them go.

As Steve stared into the flames, he let go of the day he’d had; the sadness and anxiety and confusing emotions all floated away on the cool night breeze, and Steve’s thoughts were drawn to Danny. It brought a smile to his face to think of the angry little New Jersey native, ranting about pineapples and the ocean. It made him want to call Danny. But it wouldn’t make sense, he had no reason to. Something about the guy always made him smile though, and more than anything he needed that little bit of joy.

“I am so damn tired I don’t even want to drive home,” Jack said. “I may just sleep in my car.”

“You could sleep on the couch,” Mac offered. And Steve was sure that Jack didn’t catch the glint of eagerness mixed with guilt in Mac’s eye at that offer. At least one of them knew what was going on between them.

“That King size bed’s big enough for two,” Jack joked.

“Not after Milwaukee,” Steve said with a laugh.

“What happened in Milwaukee?” Mac asked.

“Nothing,” Steve and Jack replied together, much too quickly.

“We don’t talk about Milwaukee,” Jack said in a warning tone to Steve.

There was a look of confusion and intrigue, tinged with a bit of fear on Mac’s face.

That hadn’t been Steve’s intent. He knew exactly what Jack would say when he brought up Milwaukee. Steve should have thought further ahead. Talk about sharing beds, and Jack getting all defensive, wouldn’t make the rookie anymore confident about the whole situation. 

But Steve was thinking too much and too far ahead on the whole thing. Who even knew if there was a situation? Steve had no idea what Jack’s thoughts were on anything, he seemed oblivious to the whole thing.

Steve shot a look at Mac that he hoped looked like “sorry.” But Mac had closed himself back up again, putting on that facade of cool and calm.

“Nah, I’ll drive home,” Jack said finishing his water. “I was just jokin’.”

And then Jack was up and gone, just Mac and Steve left sitting across from each other. The air was pregnant, but it wasn’t Steve’s place to speak up. Not without knowing exactly where Jack’s head was at.

So they sat there silently. Waiting for one of them to finally break the peace of the evening and get up to go to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter's already about half done...and it's gonna be a doozy! Stay tuned!!! So much Opening Day drama!!!


	16. Opening Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Opening Day of the season comes around.
> 
> Steve's last day with the team.
> 
> Drama ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU N1GHTSHADE FOR CONTINUING TO BETA THIS FOR ME!!!! Even though you DO NOT SHIP!!! You are LOVELY!!!
> 
>  
> 
> And here we are... Another chapter so soon... And this one's a DOOZY... Lots of drama... And lots of words!!! To everyone who is subscribing and reading: THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!

Opening Day started way too early. Jack woke up to a phone call, from a dream that must have been pleasant based on the morning hard-on he was sporting. He couldn’t remember a thing about it aside from golden hair, pale skin, and the smell of the outfield grass.

Jack rolled over and picked up the phone, not even opening his eyes, just jabbing at it until the ringing finally stopped. Then he laid it across his ear and mumbled: “Wha’s up? S’not time to get up yet,” followed by a long loud yawn.

“We got a problem Jack.”

“Bozer?” Jack sat up in bed at the strained tone in the pitcher’s voice. “What’s going on?”

“I’m textin’ you a link,” Bozer replied. “Take a look and then we’ll talk, ok?” The line went dead.

Jack yawned big again, clicked the link Bozer had sent, and wiped the sleep from his eyes so he could focus.

The link brought him to the SoCal Scoresheet, a popular sports news website, and Jack started reading the article it opened:

 

_The Rookie Problem_

_The LA Firebirds have had their fair share of problems. And this year is no exception.  
Let’s start with the big one: Losing Steve McGarrett. Who has been released from his contract and seen his last game with the Firebirds. This is a big hit to the franchise, who saw McGarrett as one half of a duo that brought in scores of fans every year just to see him play. Sources have it that McGarrett has opted to retire for a coaching position in the new Hawaii minor league._

 

Jack’s breath caught in his throat. Nobody was supposed to know. They hadn’t told anybody. They’d kept it under wraps all through spring training. Someone had leaked Steve’s retirement. And they seemed to know a lot of details. He quickly skimmed the rest of the article, and a few sentences stuck out here and there:

 

_Aging outfielder Jack Dalton is still battling a shoulder injury from last season. Will he even see play this year? Or just be an expensive bench warmer?_

_Sources say that Dalton is considering retirement himself._

_And onto the big problem: Angus MacGyver; a rookie who can’t even hit without his lucky bat. Like Linus with his security blanket._

_Just because he’s pretty doesn’t make him a good ballplayer._

_From Rookies to Veteran players, the Firebirds just don’t have what it takes anymore._

 

Jack was still scanning through when his phone rang.

Rookie MacGyver flashed on the screen. Still the way Jack had entered him into the contacts when they’d first met. He was going to have to change that.

“Mac?” Jack answered.

“Did you see it?” Mac asked, his voice shaky. The article was directed at the rookie after all, he couldn’t have been feeling too good about himself.

“Boze sent it over to me,” Jack confirmed. “I was just skimming it. You read it?”

“Four times,” Mac answered, his voice thick with emotion.

“I’m on my way over there,” Jack said. “Do we have any idea who the source on this thing is?”

“Steve thinks he might have an idea,” Mac answered. “He’ll tell you when you get here.”

Jack hung up and checked the clock: 5 AM. Not so much earlier than his alarm.

 

 

Jack was pulling up to Mac’s house when Thornton called him.

“Dalton, what the hell is happening?” Thornton screamed through the line once Jack answered.

He put the car in park, got out, and started walking toward Mac’s door.

“I couldn’t tell you coach. Just got off the phone with Boze. He’s not sure who it could’a been,” Jack replied. “I’m at Mac’s now. Gonna talk to Steve. I’m not sure who leaked what.”

“But it’s all about you, and Steve and the rookie-”

“Mac!” Jack said sharply. “He’s got a name damnit.”

“MacGyver! Mac! You can call him Babe Ruth for all I care with what’s going on right now!” Thornton’s voice was so loud, the speakers on the phone were breaking up. “What I’m saying is that your little tight knit group has spilled a bunch of information and I need to know who let the cat outta the fucking bag!”

“I’ll get back to you,” Jack said bitterly, ending the call.

Mac opened the door before Jack even got onto the porch, and the guy looked broken. His eyes were glassy, his brows were knit, and his fingers were twisting together like he was going to break them all.

Jack felt the sudden urge to wrap his arms tightly around Mac and comfort him. But before he could give into that early morning coffee-starved urge, Steve stepped into the hallway behind Mac.

“I didn’t say anything, to anyone,” Mac promised as he stepped aside to let Jack in.

“Don’t worry dude,” Jack comforted with a manly pat on the back. “I got you. I know it wasn’t you.”

“Well it sure as hell wasn’t me,” Steve said, but there was no accusation in those words, just bewilderment.

“Mac said you had an idea though?” Jack asked.

“I overheard a conversation yesterday between Thornton and Murdoc. That creepy fucker was threatening to release a story to the press.”

Jack’s hands instinctively pressed into fists. “I wouldn’t put it past that bastard to do this.”

“Neither of you have read the whole article,” Mac said softly.

They both looked at him, his bright blue eyes almost glowing in the dark of the early morning house.

“There’s a lot more in the article than just Steve’s retirement. There’s personal details; about you wanting to retire, Jack. About me learning to hit and bringing up my batting average during spring training,” Mac looked down at his hands like he was ashamed. Jack wanted to reach out and tip his chin back up, tell him never to be ashamed of who he was. But he restrained himself, took a deep breath, and wanted for coffee. Mac continued, still looking at his hands: “Stuff Murdoc wouldn’t know.”

Steve was swiping his way through the article on his phone again. “Mac’s right,” he admitted, silent while he paged through it. “There’s a ton of really personal detail in here. Like: are you really considering retiring to coach, Jack? You never told me that.” Steve sounded a little hurt, but he kept scrolling through the article when Jack didn’t answer. And then he reached the bottom. “And who the fuck is Nikki Carpenter?”

 

 

“Who the fuck is Nikki Carpenter?” Thornton asked as he paced back in forth in front of his team in the clubhouse. A team who had betrayed him, and he was steaming mad. So long as he could figure out who it was, though, maybe he had a chance of salvaging this dumpster fire of a situation. So he looked in each set of eyes as he walked past, and he looked deep. “Huh? I told you asshats not to talk to the press! And what did you do? Somebody waited until the last possible second and spilled the beans.”

Mac stood at the end looking guilty, and hadn’t looked Thornton in the eye during the entire speech. But Thornton was sure that was because the article had torn him apart. Ripped his talent to shreds and hung the pieces up on superstition. The article claimed that as soon as that magic bat of Jack’s busted, the rookie wouldn’t hit another ball. He wasn't convinced they were wrong.

Thornton walked back down the line.

“This is not the way I wanted us to start Opening Day boys,” he called out. “Not the way I wanted Steve’s last day to go.”

Thornton reached the other end of the line where Murdoc and Adler stood side by side. Both wearing shit-eating grins and looking like total idiots.

“What’s so funny?” Thornton asked.

“Nothin’ coach,” Adler said, killing the smile on his face.

Murdoc didn’t care, so he just kept smiling and locked his dead, black eyes onto Thornton’s.

“So what I wanna know is who talked to this Carpenter woman!” Thornton demanded. “She better not have paid you anything. I’ll find out about it!”

Murdoc looked like he was about to start talking. So instead of letting him have a soapbox, Thornton dismissed them all.

“Alright idiots,” he said. “Get a move on and get warmed up. I don’t wanna see your mugs until you’ve been running drills for at least an hour.”

Everybody grabbed their gear and filed out.

Leaving Steve McGarrett behind, sitting in the corner. As soon as the last player was gone, he walked over to coach, obviously nervous, his hands clasped together tight in front of him.

“Listen coach,” he started, “I gotta tell you I don’t think it was the rookie.”

“What makes you say that?” Thornton asked, skeptical. The details in that article were pretty intimate. Thornton wasn’t sure who else but the new guy could have leaked them.

“He’s a good guy,” Steve pleaded. “I just don’t think he did it.”

“Well your instincts have never been the best McGarrett!” Thornton barked before turning around and walking back toward his office.

He didn’t even care if he hurt the guy’s feelings on his last day. Just desserts for leaving them on a whim. Thornton slammed the door of his office when he got there and sank back in his chair, staring with disgust at the red flashing lights on his phone that showed the incoming calls. 

It was going to be a long fucking day.

 

 

As game time drew closer, Steve went looking for Jack. He knew just where he’d find him. The same place he always was before a big game: The bullpen. He knew Jack loved hunkering down back there and watching the park fill up. Watching the kids get excited and hear the din of the crowd slowly get louder and louder until it was deafening.

Steve came out of the tunnel to find Jack just where he’d expected him to be. And right there beside him was Mac.

The jealousy didn’t even flare in his gut the way it had before. He leaned in the tunnel, the cool concrete at his shoulder and hip, while he watched the two stand side by side and watch together. It was a perfect moment. The bright light washing out anything but the two of them. The small affectionate touches that casually passed back and forth. The affection flowing in both directions. So, instead of jealousy, Steve felt happy and warm.

He left the two of them to share that moment; a few minutes of peace and calm before all hell broke loose on the rookie’s first real day in the majors.

Steve walked back down the tunnel, found a quiet little corner, pulled out his cell and dialled a number that he should have resisted dialling.

“You miss me?” Steve joked, when Danny picked up on the other end. Though he was starting to realize it might not be as much of a joke as he thought.

 

 

Jack could see the rookie was terrified. Jack couldn’t blame him one bit. First day in the majors on a wave of media and drama like Jack was sure he’d never seen before. And everybody was pointing fingers at Mac. The blame was centred on him, despite the fact that Jack knew that Mac wouldn’t have spilled any of those secrets to anyone in a million years. He could see it down in those icy bright blue eyes.

They stood at the edge of the tunnel leading into the bullpen, and the crowd was enormous; the cheers and talking filling up the park in a way that nothing else ever could. Jack loved it. At the beginning of every game, it was his comfort, his solace. These people loved them. Had come to watch because they loved them. It was the world’s biggest and best extended family.

But Mac trembled and shook. Jack looked over at him, and Mac’s eyes were wide, his hands pulled into white knuckled fists.

“I can’t do this,” tumbled from Mac’s mouth. “I just…”

Jack grabbed Mac’s forearm in a tight grip, and pulled him away from the pitchers warming up. Pulled him back down into the dark tunnel. He pushed Mac up against the wall hard, and gripped Mac’s shoulders. It was oddly and comfortably intimate, but Jack didn’t care.

“Don’t think about it,” Jack whispered, leaning closer so none of the other team members would hear the panicked pep talk and catch the nerves. “It ain’t nothin’. Soon as you step out onto the dirt you won’t even hear any’a them people. I promise.”

Mac opened his mouth like he was going to say something, thought better of it, and closed it again. He hit his head, maybe too hard, against the concrete wall behind him and let it rest there, closing his eyes.

“What is it?” Jack hissed. “Come on. Out with it. Best say it now before the show gets rollin’.”

Mac’s face calmed, and he smiled. “Nothing Jack,” he replied, opening his eyes, his hands coming up to grip Jack’s forearms reassuringly. “We’ve got this.” His voice was so soft Jack barely heard it.

“We got this,” Jack repeated, louder.

Mac smiled wider, baring teeth, and looking hungry. “We’ve got this,” he repeated, even louder, nodding his head with his words and gripping Jack’s arms tighter.

“Alright, let’s go,” Jack said. “Thornton’s probably about ready to give us the worst Opening Day pep talk of all time.” He laughed, pulled Mac away from the wall and wrapped an arm loosely around the rookie’s shoulder, towing him down the tunnel and into the dark clubhouse warren.

 

 

Thornton had prepared one hell of a speech. He’d wanted to inspire the guys. Wanted to start the season with a bang. Wanted to mention Steve, but draw attention away from that sadness, and turn it into respect and reverence instead.

He sat at his desk and crumpled the speech into a little ball and threw it toward the garbage can in the corner. He missed, naturally, and the little imperfect ball of abandoned ideas rolled into the middle of the room.

Thornton sighed, and leaned his head back against the head rest of his chair.

There just didn’t seem to be any fucking point to the whole thing. The day was gonna be shit. All because of one little reporter that no one had ever heard of. There wasn’t even a picture of her on the damn website she was so green.

Thornton walked into the clubhouse and immediately everyone quieted. Even Murdoc.

“Everybody decent?” He asked, looking around to confirm no nudity. He turned back to the assistant coach at the door. “Send her in.”

A girl walked in the door. Their new press coordinator. He wanted to introduce her to everyone so they wouldn’t be confused after the game. She was dressed to impress in heels and a cute little dress, large cat-eye glasses taking away from the whole thing and making her look like a major nerd. Thornton didn’t care, as long as she could do her job.

“This here is Jill,” Thornton said. “New press coordinator. She’s got your post-game interviews set up. Just go where she tells you.”

Jill waved meekly, and pushed her glasses up her nose. No doubt intimidated by a room full of adrenaline fuelled guys who were getting ready to hit the field.

The assistant coach ushered her back out into the hall and closed the door to give the team privacy with their coach.

“Listen,” Thornton said, standing as tall as he could. He jumped right into it, no pomp and circumstance. “It’s McGarrett’s last day. Let’s made it a good one. Play it for him. And forget about everything else.”

Then he walked out of the locker room and headed for the dugout.

 

 

“Better than I expected,” Jack said with a shrug just after Thornton’s exit. Compared to some of the speeches Jack had witnessed coach give, it was almost poetry. “I thought for sure he was gonna shit on us some more about that damn article.”

“Me too,” Steve admitted. He’d geared up with the rest of them. Putting on the uniform one last time. They’d even had a fresh one made for him, it had been hung up in Jack’s locker. It was tight in Steve’s shoulders since he hadn’t been wearing it for practice at all, and his muscled bulk strained against the stiff new fabric, pulling the number fifty tight across his back.

Jack looked away, finishing with his own gear.

The timid little press coordinator poked her head in the door. “McGarrett!” She called out, eyes finding Steve immediately. “You’re up, come on.” Despite her quiet entrance, she had command and steel in her voice. Jack liked her already. “Coach wants a word before they do the big announcement.”

Steve clapped Jack on the shoulder. “See you soon,” he said as though he was walking to the gallows.

Jack stood up and pulled Steve into a tight hug, trying not to let the emotion reach his eyes and get him blubbering.

“See you out there,” Jack choked.

“Alright ladies!” Jill called from the doorway. “Get a move on! This isn’t a Hallmark movie!”

Jack and Steve laughed against each other, that little bit of humour breaking the tense air of finality around them.

The rest of the team followed on Steve’s heels.

 

 

Steve waited, his palms sweating, nerves frayed, standing at the bottom of the dugout steps. They wanted him to give a speech. He’d half expected it, but hadn’t actually found the time to prepare for it.

Thornton was standing out at the edge of the field, mike in hand, talking at length about Steve and all he meant to the team and the city of LA. And how much they would miss him. Steve’s ears wouldn’t hear, they were filled with the buzzing of nervousness that made him want to scream and vomit at the same time.

Jack stood at his back. Waiting with him. Close enough to touch, but not touching, when all Steve wanted was one of those famous bear hugs that would squeeze the air out of his body and make him forget anything bad had ever happened in the world. It was a skill Jack had.

“…further introduction. Number Five-0, Steve McGarrett.” Thornton’s voice echoed on that last note, and then faded into the insane amount of cheering that filled the ballpark, replacing the buzzing in his ears with the love and comfort of the crowd.

Steve hopped up the steps, and walked to the edge of the foul line. He slowly pulled the LA Firebirds ball cap from his head and waved it up at the crowd. He turned in a circle and saluted every side of the park; solid walls of people going up, up, up to the sky.

It always amazed him, each and every time he stepped on a field. That this huge wide-open wonderful empty space could be surrounded by tens of thousands of people. And yet, that wide-open area was reserved for nine men. Nine men to fit into the same space as those tens of thousands. And he got to be one of those men.

The emotion rising in him pricked at his eyes and made his throat hurt. And he wondered if he’d ever get any words out once they handed the mike over to him. Maybe he’d never have to. Maybe they’d just keep cheering and cheering.

Thornton pressed the mike into his palm. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He looked back at the dugout and saw Jack smiling up at him like there was nobody else in the world. Then Steve closed his eyes again and thought of the conversation with Danny earlier. The bickering back and forth. The way Danny said “I miss you too” without actually saying those words. And Steve’s throat cleared.

He held the mike up, and put his hat back on.

“LA,” he said softly, his voice cracking a little like he hadn’t talked in years. He started again. “LA has been my home for the past nine years, and I couldn’t have found a better place to settle in. You people are all like family to me. And I can’t tell you what it means to me that you welcomed me with open arms.”

Cheering. They were chanting “Five-0” over and over again.

“I’m a man of few words. But I will tell you that my success here should be shared,” he continued when the crowd died down again. “I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for Jack Dalton.”

Steve motioned toward the dugout that Jack should join him. But Jack looked like a deer in headlights.

“Come on Jacky boy,” he said into the mike for the whole ballpark to hear. “Get up here.”

The cheering took over and nothing Steve said into the mike would have even come close to breaking through it.

Steve motioned again that Jack should come out of the dugout, and finally a grinning Mac gave him a hard shove from behind that propelled him up the stairs.

Jack waved his cap around, the same way Steve had done.

Impulsively Steve pulled him into a tight hug again.

The flashing of press cameras went off all around them.

Steve took a deep breath and held it tight inside, like he could keep that moment there with it; the loud cheering of the crowd, the smell of the dirt his feet had stirred up, the warm sunlight, Jack’s arms right around him.

But they kept the hug short and sweet, and before long the crowd had quieted again to hear more of Steve’s words.

Trouble was he didn’t have anything else to say.

“Thank you for everything Los Angeles," Steve said. “I’d play forever if I could.”

Jill was standing by to take the mike from him when he was done, and he retreated to the dugout to stand with the rest of the team.

 

 

Jack ducked his head and wiped away his tears while he pretended to check his shoelaces. Then he grabbed his glove and headed for the field.

The ceremonial first pitch was normally not a team affair. They would introduce some special guest, walk them out onto the field, red carpet included, and let them throw, generally, a really sad pitch from somewhere between the mound and home plate.

But the team had decided that they wanted to be out on the field one more time with Steve. Even if they weren’t really playing. They all wanted to stand as a team one last time.

So Jack jogged to the outfield, Mac at his side. Mac broke off and headed for centre, but stayed closer to Jack than he would have during normal play.

Grass underfoot, Jack was at home and everything else around him faded. The smell of the turf, the feel of it under his shoes, the warmth in the air. He could see the people all around him, but the hum of cheers and shouts was background noise to the nostalgia singing in his veins.

Each and every time it was the same. Baseball was everything to him. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep.

When he opened them, Steve was on the mound, looking out and around at his teammates. For a moment Jack had forgotten what was happening, and wondered why Steve was so far away. Steve, who should be out in centre field.

Jack looked over to centre and saw Mac watching him.

“You ok?” Mac called out above the din, somehow directing his voice so perfectly to Jack that he heard it clear like the park was empty.

Jack swallowed hard and nodded.

Mac didn’t look like he believed that at all. But there wasn’t much they were going to do about it in the middle of the outfield.

When Jack turned back, Steve pointed to him and nodded solemnly, before he turned back toward home plate and threw a perfect 85 MPH pitch.

The whole team jogged back in, surrounding the mound. With Mac’s help, Jack hefted Steve up on their shoulders and in a crowd they carried him back to the dugout.

Everyone in the place, players and fans alike, chanted “Five-0” until their voices were hoarse with it. Until they couldn’t remember what any other words tasted like.

Even the players on the other team stood outside their dugout, hats off, and applauded.

Mac and Jack finally let Steve down, and he pulled them both into a hug together. Jack could feel Mac’s stiff body in that hug; he hadn’t been expecting it, hadn’t thought he’d be welcome into their friendship. But he was all the same, and Mac finally relaxed into that embrace and wrapped his arms around the two men.

Jack returned to the outfield, as Steve retreated into the dugout. Separated now by a barrier that would never go away. Steve wasn’t on the Disabled List this time. He wasn’t just sitting this one out. He was sitting them all out now.

Mac walked back with Jack, close. “You sure you’re alright?” He asked.

Jack shrugged and laughed. “You kiddin’ me? It’s Opening Day! Best day of the year!”

Mac clapped him hard on the shoulder. Jack felt that touch deep in his bones and was so grateful for it.

 

 

Steve sat on the bench and felt lonely even though he was surrounded by the rest of the team: the back up, the DH, the pitchers who didn’t need to be warm just yet. All of these people he knew, and had known for years, should have been comforting. And they sat next to him, and they talked to him while the game started in front of them. But he felt that divide so keenly.

There was no discussion about when he would be back playing. How long is your PT? What did the doctor say? It was all just small talk and questions about Hawaii and where he was going to go and what he was going to do. Nothing so simple as: what are you up to tomorrow? More like: where will you be in five years?

Steve ached to take up a mitt and run into the field and catch the pop fly that was hit by the second batter. Or run to the wall for the surprise home run from the fourth guy up.

Instead he was relegated to telling people the same things over and over: coaching job, Hawaii, spending time with family, minor league ball… blah blah blah. It made his head ache.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want it. He knew that as soon as he was back with his new organization he’d be right at home and happy again. But he felt like he was being dismissed.

And watching Jack run through the outfield, perfectly in sync with Mac just made him ache to do it again. But he refused to let regret seep into him. He was just starting to wish he hadn’t stayed to watch the game. Especially after the play for the third out in the top of the first: Mac and Jack running toward the same pop fly, fair game for either of them, right in between centre and right field. At the last second when it looked like they were going to collide, both looking up at the ball, Mac slid on his knees, and Jack hopped over him like they were doing a coordinated dance they’d memorized the steps to. Jack caught the ball and Mac jumped up to give him a high five.

That rush. That adrenaline. And being so in sync with his teammates. Steve would miss that like oxygen. And watching someone else have it, hurt.

The boys rushed into the dugout, and geared up for their at bats. Mac was in the hole, third in the lineup, and when he grabbed a very particular bat, Steve’s heart almost stopped in his chest.

Jack was still standing next to Mac, talking, heads close together, while Mac loosely gripped the bat.

Steve turned to Boze. “Is that Jack’s lucky bat?”

Bozer nodded. “Mac’s been hittin’ with it since about halfway through spring training.”

“And Jack… is ok with that?” Steve asked. Nobody had ever touched Jack’s lucky bat. Steve had joked about it once and they’d gotten into a fistfight.

Boze nodded. “Yeah man, it was weird,” he said conspiratorially. “Mac couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn, and one day Jack just walks out and hands him the bat. Mac’s been hittin’ with it ever since.”

Steve’s brain went back to the article. So that was the lucky bat the reporter had written about. She’d left out the best part: it wasn’t just any bat, it was _Jack’s_ lucky bat. Steve’s heart warmed and he felt sympathy for Jack. How could the idiot not realize something was happening? When he’d let someone else lay hands on that bat, how could Jack not understand that person was special?

 

 

Jack could see Mac was still nervous. His first at bat in the big leagues, he was bound to be. So Jack waited with Mac until he walked out to the on deck circle, and then grabbed his own helmet and bat to get ready.

Cage made it to first by the skin of his teeth, and then Mac was up. He turned back toward the dugout. Jack nodded and with as determined a look as he could muster mouthed: “you got this.”

Mac nodded back, and a little colour returned to his face. He turned away from Jack and walked toward home plate. The transformation was minute, and anyone who didn’t know Mac well wouldn’t have seen. But Jack did. The tension in his shoulders eased, and his walk became lighter, less like he was walking to the electric chair. And then he stepped up to the plate, gripped his bat and slid into that easy stance Jack had watched so many times at the batting cages.

“That’s my boy,” Jack muttered to himself.

Someone slapped Jack’s shoulder from behind.

“Dalton! You’re on deck!” Coach shouted, shaking Jack out of the moment.

Cursing the stupid coach, Jack hopped up the steps and into the On Deck circle. He swung the bat around as though practicing his swing and warming up his arms, but his concentration was entirely focused on Mac, whose back was to him.

“Come on, come on,” Jack chanted under his breath.

The first pitch was high, and Mac laid off. The second pitch was high and outside, and Mac laid off. The third pitch was low, but not too low. Mac’s body tensed in that perfect, wonderful way. His arms swung around, pulling power up from the twisting of his legs and hips and the bat cracked against the ball sending it into a hole in left field.

Mac took off like a shot, at first base before they’d even found the ball in the outfield grass. Mac’s first major league hit. Jack gave a loud whoop, ecstatic that whatever magic Mac had summoned in the pre-season had carried through. Their eyes met across the infield, as Mac took his lead from first base to prepare for the next batter; he was grinning ear to ear, watching Jack.

Of course he was watching Jack. Cause Jack _was_ the next batter! He tried not to look hurried as he strode up to home plate.

The moment he stepped inside that batter’s box, everything else faded away. The din became a distant buzz that was easily forgotten. The outfield wall that was so impossibly far away came into crystal clear focus, like it was ten feet from where he stood. 

It was Opening Day, and the impossible was always possible on Opening Day. Especially with Steve watching for the last time, and Mac waiting on first. Jack felt like he could fly if he wanted, like the whole world was slowing down just for him.

Jack shifted his feet in the dirt, like a bull getting ready to charge, digging down with his cleats to find that wonderful place that felt just right: even footing for a good solid base, the perfect push off to run to first in a hurry, but also a good place to press back away from a wild pitch. He turned his heel and there it was. 

Settling into that little box that he owned, he brought the bat up, gripping tight at first and then loosening his fingers, like a handshake. A look of daring crept into his eyes as he stared down the pitcher. It was all about intimidation, and Jack Dalton had perfected the cold dark stare.

Then it was just Jack and the pitcher. No one else existed in the world. There was no crowd, no umpire, no cameras or judgements. Just a batter and a pitcher facing off on a warm sunny day.

The first pitch was a gift from heaven, and it seemed to soar toward him slowly, giving Jack all the time in the world to make the most of it. His body tensed, and he brought the bat around with all the strength and intent he could muster to send it to that outfield way and farther still.

The moment bat and ball met he knew it was gone.

Finished his follow through, Jack let the tip of the bat drop to the ground, barely holding it now with loose fingertips as he watched the ball bounce off the seats in the upper deck.

The dark intimidation on his face melted away to a grin, and his eyes sought Mac immediately. Mac, who wasn’t watching the ball, but was watching Jack instead, still smiling that great big smile.

And then, as though a spell was broken, they all ran. Cage, then Mac, then Jack all heading for home plate while the crowd cheered “Dalton” over and over again.

Jack crossed home plate and jumped into Mac’s waiting arms. Miraculously, despite his slight build, Mac held him up by the waist and hugged him tight before dropping him back to his feet.

First hit of the year: A home run.

 

 

Steve wanted to ask. First thing. He wanted to ask Jack what was going on with the lucky bat, and how the rookie ended up with it. Instead, he took a deep breath and decided he’d have to wait for the right moment, when Mac wasn’t around.

Jack waded through the waiting team, high-fiving and chest bumping with everyone along the way.

Mac took the long way around into the dugout: the stairs on the outfield end, avoiding the rest of the team entirely. Probably wanting Jack to be the focus in his big moment. Steve could appreciate that; the rookie wasn’t playing best friends with Jack to ride on his coat tails. He stood and waited with Steve.

“That one was for you bro,” Jack said, pulling Steve into a tight hug.

“Naw,” Steve patted Jack hard on the back. “Take the first one for yourself. You’re gonna hit another one next inning.”

Anyone who overheard Steve knocked on the wooden bench and narrowed their eyes at him. 

Steve just laughed. Superstitious bastards.

Steve sat back on the bench to watch the rest of the inning. Mac sat on his left. Instead of sitting on Steve’s right: the closest and most logical seat, Jack walked to the end and sat on Mac’s other side. Steve tried not to feel hurt, and instead took comfort in the way that Jack leaned in toward Mac, using Steve’s proximity on the other side as an excuse to lean against the rookie and talk across him to Steve.

The inning didn’t last long. To Colton’s disappointment he struck out. And Acosta was thrown out on an infield hit.

While the three of them sat watching, Jack leaned his knee against Mac’s and provided excited commentary to both Mac and Steve.

Watching the rest of the team hop up and run out into the field made Steve hurt inside. And for the hundredth time he wondered if he shouldn’t have thrown his opening pitch and just left. Left the stadium, left the city, left the state. Flown back to Hawaii, and his family, and his team immediately. But Jack never would have stood for that.

So instead of running away, Steve stood his ground and watched the guys walk out to their places together: Jack and Mac, walking close; Cage and Acosta on the way to second and short stop; Deacon strutting to the mound alone, getting himself in the right headspace to throw a fastball; Adler kicking up dirt as he kneeled behind Home Plate.

The middle of the lineup was no challenge for Deacon. Three up, three down, and the side was retired. The next few innings were much the same for both sides: a stalemate of no hits.

In the bottom of the fourth, Jack returned to the bench from a strikeout, and Steve took his opportunity.

“So,” he attempted casually when Jack sat down next to him. The curiosity in his voice was obvious. “I noticed Mac’s got an interesting bat.”

Jack sighed as he pulled off his batting gloves. “How long you been waitin’ to ask me about that?” Jack asked with a smile, licking his lips.

Steve smiled in return. He wasn’t angry, or upset, just curious and wanted Jack to feel at ease. “Since the minute I saw him pick it up,” he admitted.

“Yeah, well, it worked out,” Jack answered cryptically.

Steve laughed and turned away from the game toward his best friend. “What does that even mean?” He asked.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Jack said, beginning to get defensive. “Everybody’s been actin’ weird about it since day one and I don’t get it.”

Steve raised his eyebrows. “Well yeah, Jack. You didn’t let anybody lay hands on that bat since you’ve hit that damn home run. You wouldn’t even use it anymore,” Steve pointed out. “And now, alluva sudden you’re just handing it off to the rookie?”

Jack frowned and looked down at the batting gloves he had clutched in his hands. “He needed it,” Jack said quietly, looking around to make sure no one else could hear.

Steve leaned forward onto his knees, trying to look like they were having a casual conversation. During a major league game there were always cameras everywhere. But he leaned back in toward Jack a little, brushing their knees and elbows together.

“What do you mean ‘he needed it?’” Steve asked, unsuccessfully keeping the grin from his face.

“You know what, McGarrett?” Jack’s voice went from serious to amused in no time flat. “I can see that grin you got happenin’ there. And I don’t know what you think’s so funny, but I gave the rookie a break, ok? You don’t ever remember needin’ a hand up in your career?”

Steve shook his head and looked Jack in the eye. “Nope. I was always perfect,” he answered. “Pure talent they said. McGarrett is pure talent in the body of a god.”

The two broke up laughing and Jack threw an arm around Steve. “Body of a god my ass! Gettin’ a bit high and mighty I think!”

Steve didn’t mind that Jack played it off as a joke, didn’t mind that he evaded actually answering the question. Steve could read it in Jack’s body language, the way he talked about Mac; maybe only one of them knew what was going on between them, but both of them were hopelessly attached to each other.

 

 

The team came and went throughout the next few innings. Up and down the stairs, out to to the field and back in. Trading gloves for bats and bringing the smell of the outfield with them each time. Sometimes they came back smelling like earth from sliding into a base. Deacon smelled like rosin from hefting the bag on the mound. Sunflower seeds littered the ground making crunching sounds under cleats. Boze chewed wad after wad of gum, sucking the flavour out, and then sticking the pink blob up under his seat on the bench while he waited to find out if he needed to warm up for the end of the game; Colton paced; and Cage nervously stood at the edge of the fence, unable to sit even for a moment; Mac and Jack always returned to sit by Steve.

It made Steve wish he wasn’t quitting, watching his little family follow their familiar routines. And watching the way Mac fit in so well with them, despite the fact that he seemed to have a little personal space bubble that he tried not to let anyone inside. Anyone except Jack. Whenever Mac returned to the dugout, he would high five here or there, but never horse around with the guys, or even sit close to anyone but Jack.

Then there was Murdoc. Seated nearest coach, his cold eyes surveying the game; one player in particular, it seemed. Each time Steve turned back that way, Murdoc’s cold unfeeling eyes seemed laser focused on Mac. Infatuation, or vendetta, Steve couldn’t tell yet. Murdoc was always so damn hard to read.

There was an uneasy tension in Murdoc, like a snake waiting to strike. And Steve saw it coming much too late to head it off.

Jack was leading off second, Mac sitting next to Steve.

Steve didn’t hear so much as a sunflower seed shell, and then there was Murdoc’s oily, ice cold voice, giving him goosebumps.

“Steven, enjoying your last game from the comfort of the bench?” Murdoc asked. There was barely a breath for Steve to answer before he added: “Oh, and Angus. Didn’t see you there. I thought you’d be out at second base, since I was sure you and Jacky boy were glued together at the hip.” There was bitterness there. Did Murdoc see it as easily as Steve did? The connection between Mac and Jack? Jack would need to be careful.

Mac’s face went stony and he turned his attention away from Murdoc and toward the game.

“What the hell do you want?” Steve asked, sliding forward on the bench to put himself between Murdoc and Mac without actually making a show of defending the rookie.

Murdoc just walked around him to get in Mac’s line of sight.

“Speaking of good old Jack, I think he would be very interested to find out just where it is you come from Angus,” Murdoc said, hissing the s at the end of Mac’s name. “Exactly how it is you ended up here in our fine little ball club.”

The tension in the dugout was immediately stifling.

Mac stood up and backed Murdoc up against the fence. Steve got up and followed, hoping to step between the two and prevent a fight. But, despite Mac’s seeming aversion to letting people into his personal bubble, he was chest to chest with Murdoc, his eyes burning cold.

Steve felt the others stand up behind him, and heard Thornton’s measured footsteps approaching.

Murdoc laughed, almost maniacally in the face of Mac’s rage. Steve was a little put off, having never seen the angry side of the rookie. Glad he’d never been on the receiving end.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Murdoc,” Mac seethed. “Now I’d appreciate it if you’d get the fuck out of my face and let me watch the rest of this inning in peace.”

“I bet you would really like that,” Murdoc’s laughter subsided to giggles. “Can’t miss out on an opportunity to cheer old Jacky boy on. Just you wait until he finds out where you really come from.” Murdoc’s voice got low, so only Mac and Steve could hear him. “Just you wait until everyone finds out who daddy is.”

“Come on asshole,” Steve said, shoving his hands in between the two and pushing them apart. He pushed Murdoc into the fence harder than he needed to, but Steve didn’t care, it was his last day.

“Murdoc!” Thornton’s voice was stern behind them. “Quit causing shit and go sit down.”

“Yes sir el capitan!” Murdoc saluted dramatically and retreated to the other end of the dugout, taking a seat next to Adler.

“Don’t let him get under your skin,” Steve clapped a hand on Mac’s back.

Mac shouldered away from the touch. “He’s not under my skin,” the anger was still bubbling at the surface. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Steve said sarcastically sitting back down on the bench. He waited for Mac to join him, but instead the rookie stood at the fence and watched the rest of the inning alone.

 

 

The familiar sounds of bats colliding with baseballs, and gloves catching pop flies, and players sliding into home; the crowd cheering and singing and chanting and calling out names; The umpire calling strikes and balls after each pitch; even the soft rattling of the chain link swaying back and forth as the players hung off the dugout fence. All these noises, Steve collected and kept in his memory. Throughout the game he noticed smaller things too. Things he’d never thought about before: the way Thorpe dragged his feet when he came back from a strikeout; Colton taking his ball cap off and tapping it against the bench anxiously during the later innings; Julio and Marco softly talking in Portuguese; Adler tapping his heels alternately in a nervous pattern.

The familiar sound of the buzzing of the bullpen phone sounded in the background in the top of the eighth.

Thornton took the call and mumbled into the phone before slamming it back down.

“Bozer!” Coach called down the dugout. “Get out to the bullpen. As soon as you’re warm, you’re in.”

Deacon had been pitching the whole game, and was starting to struggle.

The game wasn’t even close. The Firebirds were up 4 runs, but it never hurt to ensure victory. Especially on Opening Day at home. Selfishly, Steve also wanted them to win on his last day around.

Boze jumped up off the bench at the same time Murdoc rose to his feet.

“You’re going to put him in on Opening Day?” Murdoc was enraged. “I am definitely the better closer here! And you’re putting Wilt in?”

Thornton sighed, looked past Murdoc to Bozer. “Bozer, go warm up.”

“You got it coach,” Boze said, pushing his way past Murdoc and into the tunnels to make his way around to the bullpen.

Murdoc seethed. “I won’t forget this,” he said dramatically.

“It’s one game Murdoc,” Thornton rumbled. “Get over it.”

 

 

Bozer was the right choice. Finishing the game with seven straight strikeouts.

Jack ran in from the outfield, picked the small pitcher up by the waist, and carried him around in circles in front of the roaring home crowd.

Steve surged up the steps and onto the field, pushing his way into the team group hug around the mound and trying to keep that moment and hold it close inside. The warm press of the team around him, the smell of sweat and dirt and grass and leather. There was nothing better in the world.

Steve closed his eyes and let his feet follow the sway of that little piece of friendship and family and perfect moment. Somehow in that press his arm found it’s way around Jack’s back, and he pulled him close, Mac’s arm was already there, but there was lots of Jack to go around. Steve would never admit it, but he pressed his face into Jack’s shoulder in the guise of being pushed by the other players from behind, and shed a few tears into Jack’s jersey as he tried to hang on and let go at the same time.

Once they broke apart, Steve would blame his red and watery eyes on the dirt they’d stirred up around the mound. But Jack gave him a wink, like he knew better, and Steve just smiled in return.

 

 

“One last round of applause, for number Five-0, Steve McGarrett!” The announcer blared out across the field once the team had retreated to the dugout.

Jack sat back on the bench, waiting for Steve to go up and take another well-deserved round of applause.

Steve stood up, grabbed Jack’s hand, and dragged him out onto the field where he wrapped an arm around Jack’s shoulders and pulled him to the middle of the infield.

The two took their hats off and spun around to watch the crowd yell themselves hoarse.

Tears strung Jack’s eyes, and he didn’t even care that he was crying on live TV. He put his arm around Steve’s back and pulled their sides together until it hurt.

One last moment in the spotlight with his best friend.

Jack could have stood there forever, hoping that it never ended, but waiting for it to end all the same. But it only seemed like a minute before Steve was dragging him back toward the dugout where Jill waited for them.

“Alright, Jack, Steve, and Mac,” Jill was all professionalism, and efficiency, no time for any pleasantries. “Over this way. I’ve got your press interviews set up on the field.”

The three of them followed her toward the reporters waiting on the field.

“Who’ve I got?” Jack asked. He’d gotten to know all of the press that covered their team, and liked to give some of them a hard time.

“You and Steve are in a joint interview with Leanna Martin,” Jill said, double checking her schedule.

“Who’s Mac with?” Steve asked.

Jill didn’t look down at her schedule and averted her eyes awkwardly. “Well…”

“Well?” Jack prompted.

“Mac’s doing a follow-up interview. We thought it might clear the air,” she said, still avoiding all three sets of eyes that were following behind her.

“Follow up with who?” Mac asked warily, anxiousness and anger bubbling in his words.

“Nikki Carpenter,” Jill said stiffly. “We need to-”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Jack stepped out in front of Jill and turned to look at her, all seething anger and solid muscle. To her credit, the press coordinator did not look phased. Jack waved at the little crowd of reporters waiting for them. “That woman is here? Where is she? I’m gonna take her head off!”

“I’m right here, Jack,” a familiar voice called over the noise and the din. Jack’s heart sank and he felt like he’d been punched in the gut and hollowed out. He turned slowly.

She looked different; tailored skirt-suit, hair loose and styled, camera-ready makeup caked on in bright layers. But it was-

“Alice?” Mac asked, voice full of hurt and confusion. “It was you?”

She just shrugged unapologetically. Standing there under the bright ballpark lights, waiting for her interview. Waiting to make herself a name.

When she was leaving, she’d told Jack that she had a job opportunity. One hell of an opportunity: just grind some poor rookie to dust under your heel.

“I don’t know what you’re expecting Mac,” she answered. “You never really treated me that well.”

Mac’s face started to crumple, but then hardened to bitter anger, his jaw tense and tight.

Jack pitched his voice low with threat. “I thought we were friends Alice-”

“My name’s Nikki, actually,” she cut him off, but he saw a flash of guilt in her eyes. Then she shifted her interview mike from one hand to the other, stepped forward, and offered her empty hand to Jack. “Nikki Carpenter. Reporter for the SoCal Scoresheet.”

Jack shook his head, and refused to take her hand.

“Mac, I think you should do the follow up interview,” Jill broke the awkward silence, and Nikki withdrew her hand.

“There is no way in hell that I’m doing an interview with her,” Mac hissed through gritted teeth.

“You can definitely go fuck yourself,” Jack spat at Nikki.

Nikki smiled, and it was cold, her eyes unblinking. “Can I quote you on that?” She asked.

“No! Off the record!” Jill said suddenly. “Just give me a minute with my players,” she stood in front of Mac, Jack and Steve with her arms wide like she was wrangling sheep. “Boys, a minute?” They walked away from the press circle into the outfield grass.

“Jill, listen to me,” Mac started, “I can tell you right now that if you put me in an interview with that woman I’m going to say something bad.”

Jill scowled, checking her watch. This whole thing was putting her behind schedule, no doubt. “Mac, what exactly happened between you two? What is going on here?”

“I slept with her in Phoenix,” Mac said. “Like, a lot.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up at that, and he flicked his gaze back and forth between Mac and Jack. Jack couldn’t help but wonder what that was all about. Was he thinking she was more Jack’s style? He decided to ignore Steve’s confusion for the bigger problem at hand and turned his attention back to Jill.

“She practically lived at the hotel,” Jack supplied.

Jill rolled her eyes. “Baseball players are the worst!” She hissed. “Could you guys, for five minutes, not screw everyone in sight? Including reporters who are very obviously sticking around to gather enough information to write a revealing tell-all?”

“You’re gonna generalize now?” Jack asked. “Cause I didn’t get laid once during all of spring training?”

Steve was gripping his chin between finger and thumb, and narrowing his eyes the way he did when he was trying to figure out the tip on a big bar tab. “Not once?” He asked in surprise.

“Not for lack of trying,” Jack defended.

“Well…” Mac let that hang in there air for a moment before adding: “I mean, I could argue that you weren’t really-”

“Holy crap, not the point!” Jill yelled. Before taking a deep breath, composing herself and straightening her suit jacket. “Now, we have some business to conduct gentlemen. Can you act like professionals for five minutes and help promote this ball club? Or should I just send you back to the clubhouse and make statements on your behalf?”

“I’m good,” Steve said, putting his hand up jokingly like a kid in class. “I can handle my reporter. Jack?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Jack grumbled.

“Mac?” Jill prompted.

Mac seethed, his lips a tight line, his eyes burning icy.

Jill stood directly in front of him and met his eyes. “Just remember: don’t let her goad you. Think as long as you need to about your answers. And if all else fails: ‘we played good today. It’s the way we wanted to end it for McGarrett.’”

“You got this bro,” Jack said, slapping Mac hard on the shoulder. “Shove it right back in her face.”

Jill glared at him, and he knew they weren’t getting off to the best start.

“Oh whatever,” Jack said as he stormed past Jill, followed close behind by Steve.

“Now, what do you mean not once during spring training?” Steve asked, trailing close behind. “Like, not once? Not even Dawn?”

Jack sighed and waved away the question as he ignored Nikki’s cold smile on the way past to his own interview.

One quick interview and then Jack Dalton was aiming to get good and drunk.


	17. Another Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Opening Day is done, the boys share a drink for Steve's last night in town.
> 
> Riley considers forgiveness.
> 
> Jack bids farewell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you N1ghtshade for being my awesome beta!!!!
> 
> Thank you lavendersblues for helping me work through a really awkward section that just wouldn't behave!!!

“I need a drink!” Jack barked as he walked through the door of Elwood’s, Mac close behind.

Elwood’s was tradition after every game. Even if they were going out somewhere else after, Jack always stopped at Elwood’s. And tonight in particular he was in need of that drink. 

Standing ten feet away, trying to focus on his own interview, and watching Mac talk to Alice/Nikki/whatever had frayed the last of his nerves. Mac had tried his best to look the role of the handsome sports star, but his anger had simmered not too far under the surface. When they left, Mac was visibly drained.

Riley poured Jack’s beer, and shot him a stone-faced look.

“What?” Jack asked, not in the mood to play any games. But that was alright, cause Riley wasn’t a game-playing kind of girl.

“Steve leave already?” She asked, leaning over to look dramatically behind him, like the much taller Hawaiian was hiding behind Jack. 

There was no one there.

“Nope, he didn’t,” Jack spat right back, not in the mood for anybody’s shit. “He’s waiting out in the car cause he’s scared of some little twenty-something punk in here who gave him a hard time the other night.” Jack picked up the beer and took a big gulp.

Riley’s face softened. Those big brown eyes of hers doubling in size. “I’ll… ummm… be right back,” she said, walking quickly out from behind the bar toward the front door.

Mac put a half-hearted hand up on her way by and muttered: “I could use a drink…” The exhaustion in his voice was palpable. The way the rookie swayed on the bar stool, his shoulders slumped, made Jack realize just how well he’d been hiding his feelings in front of the press. Jack regretted not putting that first pint of beer into Mac’s hand and asking Riley for another one. His anger had taken over, and made him selfish, but he should have looked after Mac first.

Sam slowly made her way toward them, checking with other customers on the way down the bar, making drawn out conversation. When she reached them with a languid smile on her face, Jack pushed his empty glass toward her. “Two shots of whiskey,” he requested, still fighting the anger in his voice.

“Did you break my girl again Jack?” Sam’s voice was soft and full of threat despite the easy smile on her face. She ignored his order.

“I sure hope not,” Jack slumped onto a bar stool next to Mac. “Cause she broke my Steve. And I can’t deal with two broken people.”

Sam’s eyes darted to the front door and back, and her kind smile faded, replaced with worry.

 

 

Riley walked out the door like the building was on fire and then stopped short. Jack’s GTO was parked across the street, just down the block. Whoever was sitting inside wouldn’t be able to see the pub. So Riley was left to hesitate as long as she wanted, and stopped abruptly in her tracks to think about what she wanted to say.

She leaned back against the wall, and wondered what she was doing. Did she want to forgive Steve? Was she doing it for herself? Or Jack? Or Steve? Or all of them?

Tired of overthinking the whole thing, she pushed off from the wall and walked with a determined stride to the car, ripping open the driver’s side door, sitting in the front seat and slamming the door behind her.

Steve didn’t look up from where he toyed nervously with his nails. “That didn’t take you long,” Steve said. “Where we headed next?” He was expecting Jack.

“I’m still pissed at you,” Riley said with no sugar coating, keeping her brows down, her face as angry as she could muster.

Steve looked up, surprised and anxious, and looking more than a little afraid. She almost laughed it was so funny to think of the six foot, heavily muscled athlete, being afraid of her. Steve turned in his seat and opened his mouth to speak.

“No,” Riley said simply. “You don’t get to talk. I get to talk. And I am still pissed at you. Like, really pissed.” She let that hang in the air before she said anything else. “But…” the word trailed away, and she let her face soften.

Hope flared in Steve’s sea-coloured eyes. She’d never noticed that about him before, that his eyes held the ocean. But it wasn’t the SoCal ocean, it was more green and wild than that. Riley wondered if the sea off the coast of Hawaii was that colour of blue; she would have bet the bank on it.

Steve obeyed and didn’t say a word. He’d laced his fingers together tightly in front of him, the knuckles turning white.

“But,” she repeated slowly, “maybe we can talk it out. It wasn’t really fair for me to lose my shit without hearing you out.” She looked at Steve, waiting for him to answer. The silence stretched.

“Oh, can I talk now?” He asked earnestly, no sarcasm or condescension in his tone. He was honestly asking permission.

Riley huffed a laugh and nodded her head. “Yeah, you can talk now.”  
Steve grinned in return. “Riles, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do it this way, I didn’t even tell Jack until he showed up for spring training and I wasn’t there.” Steve started spilling words and his voice grew hoarse and once he had choked out the whole story about his new team and being close to his family in Hawaii, Riley let the silence hang for a moment.

“You didn’t think I’d understand that?” She asked. “That I wouldn’t understand wanting to be near your family?”

Steve answered with a grateful smile.

Wanting to feel like a kid again, Riley slid across the bench seat and into Steve’s arms, curling up to make herself small, and tucking into his broad chest. His arms surrounded her and were warm and solid. She’d miss that.

“You gonna be ok Riles?” Steve’s voice rumbled in his chest, where her ear was pressed tightly.

She nodded against him.

“You sure?” He asked, bringing a hand up to hold at the back of her head, fingers ruffling her messy hair.

“Yeah, of course,” she put as much strength into that sentence as she could muster. “Who do you think you’re talking to? I’m a tough chick you know.”

“Yeah I know,” Steve said softly, laying a kiss on the top of her head. “You’re a badass Riles.” How many times had he told her that when she was growing up? How many times had he poured his faith into that phrase when he encouraged her?

“Plus,” she choked, pulling back and sitting up straight. “Now I have a sweet place to hang out when I come visit Hawaii, right? Private beach, room service?”

“Who said anything about room service?” Steve was mock offended. But then he reached forward, took her cheek into his palm and wiped away a tear with his thumb.

She didn’t shy away from it, or try to hide her sadness. Steve had taught her to be a badass. Jack had taught her that emotion wasn’t weakness.

 

 

Jack didn’t even look up when the door into the bar opened. Just sipped at his beer and waited for Steve and Riley to join them. He knew they’d work it out. Steve had been around since Riley was a teenager. Neither of them would leave something like that hanging on an angry goodbye. They were both better people than that.

By the looks of her though, Sam hadn’t been so sure, and Jack almost laughed when she visibly relaxed at the happy sounds that followed the opening of that door.

Riley’s laughter was genuine and came deep from her belly. Steve was telling some story, the swelling of his voice indicated that it was full of exaggeration.

Mac sat quietly, waiting, as though he didn’t belong. Probably feeling like a big pain in everyone's ass after that damn article, interview, and drama. But Jack knew better. He was always aware of the rookie, no matter what was going on, he could just feel Mac there. Whether Mac liked it or not, he was connected to Jack.

As they neared the bar, Steve finished his story dramatically, arm around Riley’s shoulders. “So then Jack ate it, and it’s never been seen since!”

“No!” Riley gasped, face a combination of horror and amusement. “You didn’t?” She looked to Jack.

Jack nodded his head, knowing exactly which story Steve had just finished telling. One of those stories Riley had been too young to hear at the time, and had been told: “we’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“I am so glad you never told me that before!” She said. “Gross!”

Jack could feel Mac smiling beside him; could feel the amusement coming off of him in waves. It was strange, even with Steve, Jack had never felt so attuned. And just to check and see if he was right, he glanced over at Mac, whose lips were stretched wide ear to ear. Their eyes met immediately, and Mac said quietly, just for Jack: “You’ll have to tell me that one sometime.”

Jack leaned closer. “Trust me, you don’t wanna hear it.” He paused, and then added: “Plus, nobody tells it like Steve.”

Mac’s clear eyes were full of understanding, but not pity, and he clapped a hand on Jack’s knee, tightening his fingers once before letting go. Jack felt it through into his bones, and it spoke volumes. It said: Don’t worry, I won’t leave. 

It was like being struck by lightning, the way the thought suddenly arrived in Jack’s brain: how was it, that in so little time, he and Mac had become such fast friends? There was no logic or reason to it. And though he’d been asked several times, by Riley, and Steve among others, he’d never thought it was strange. Until Mac looked at him that way and made that silent promise.

It shook Jack a little, but he tried not to let it show, and he looked back toward Steve and Riley.

“Hey Sam!” Riley called across the bar. “Steve said we can come visit in Hawaii! He’s got his own private beach.”

Steve cleared his throat and put on his terrible Aussie accent, directed at Sam. “You defo better come round and see me. Pack your cozzies and we’ll take an esky down to a beach that doesn’t have salties in it.”

Sam smiled wide, her eyes unreadable, and leaned on her elbows across the bar. “You know Steve,” her thick accent rolled around her mouth, “the one thing I’m definitely not going to miss, is you butchering my accent.”

“Butcher? Me?” Steve was mock offended. “No, you couldn’t be talking about me. My Australian accent is perfect.”

Sam shot him a wink before she meandered down the bar to pour him a drink.

 

 

The night came to a close too early for his last night in town, and Steve sat on his barstool until Riley poked him with her mop handle. He didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want the night to end.

“Time to hit the road,” Jack slurred.

“You guys are smashed,” Sam said, as though she’d answered a question no one had asked.

“This was a terrible idea,” Mac moaned from where he sat on the floor by the door, leaned against the wall. Jack sat next to him while they waited for Steve.

“No, no, no,” Jack spoke up, leaning too close to Mac. Mac just leaned closer in return, attentive. “It was not a terrible idea! Steve’s last night in town! We had to make a night of it.”

Steve was suddenly full of regrets. The rest of the team. The boys. They’d said they were going to meet up and go out on the town. Instead Steve had sat all night at Elwood’s drinking with the old drunks and the regulars and… the only people he wanted to spend his last night in town with: Jack and Riley. The regret seeped out of him.

“Alright boys, let’s catch a cab or something,” Steve said.

“Naw, it’s alright,” Riley spoke up. “I can give you guys a ride. Sam can follow and drive me home.”

“Yeah?” Jack asked from the floor, his head resting on Mac’s shoulder.

Steve was suddenly worried. He’d planned to talk to Jack about everything that seemed to be happening with Mac; the closeness, the way they were drawn to each other, the way Mac looked at Jack. But time was dwindling and he still hadn’t brought it up. Tomorrow, Steve thought, before my flight.

“Yeah,” Riley confirmed their ride home.

 

 

When they reached Mac’s house, Steve looked back to find that Jack had fallen asleep on Mac’s shoulder in the back seat. Mac had enough of his wits about him to look a little guilty. Riley didn’t seem to notice anything odd. But then, Jack had always been a very affectionate, touchy feely guy.

“I’ll get him home,” Riley assured them, as they peeled Jack away from Mac and laid him down along the back seat.

Mac cradled Jack’s head carefully as they flopped him down on his back.

“Mmmm thanks,” Jack mumbled in his sleep.

Even in the dark Steve watched the flush of pleasure that spread up Mac’s neck to his face.

Steve gave Riley one more big hug before he watched her drive off with Jack.

He waited alone in the driveway until the tail lights were gone before he went inside.

Mac stood inside with two bottles of water. He held one out to Steve.

Steve grabbed it roughly, and pointed it in the rookie’s face. Steve was just drunk enough to feel confrontational and a little angry.

Mac looked startled and held his hands up as though at gunpoint instead of at the end of a water bottle.

“You watch yourself!” Steve commanded.

“I…” Mac looked Steve up and down as though wondering if he could take him. Even drunk, Steve knew he had the upper hand on the skinny rookie. “Sorry?” Mac tacked on the end, obviously unsure what was going on.

“I am leaving my people in your hands man,” Steve continued. “And you’d better be careful with them.”

“I’m not sure…”

“Don’t be cute,” Steve narrowed his eyes, pulling back the water bottle, opening it and sucking down half of it in one go. “Have you said anything to Jack yet?” He was being vague on purpose. He wasn’t even entirely sure he was right. There was a secret swimming in those icy blues, but maybe Steve had guessed it wrong.

“Told him what?” Mac asked.

Steve shook his head in frustration and walked up the stairs onto the deck. Mac followed, just like Steve had expected.

“Jack’s the best friend I’ve ever had,” Steve confessed, standing at the edge of the deck, his voice breaking a little with emotion and drunkenness. The city glowed. It was the perfect place to stay to say goodbye to the city, at the same time as everything else.

“He talks about you a lot,” Mac said, standing beside Steve, hands resting lightly on the railing.

“Be careful-” Steve’s voice broke all the way and the rest of the words wouldn’t come, swallowed on a tide of emotion and liquor that was swelling his blood. He faked a few coughs, as though he’d gotten some phlegm stuck in his throat instead of nine years of letting go. “Be careful with him,” Steve repeated, finishing the sentence.

Mac fumbled for words, his own reactions and emotions amplified by the booze. “I’m not… I don’t know… Not sure what you’re-”

Steve set his water down, turned to Mac, took him by the shoulders and looked him square in the eye. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, and I’m telling you to be careful.”

Mac’s eyes were wide with fear. It was a secret then. Steve could see it there. It was a secret from everyone, and by the look of shame deep in those icy pools, he’d even tried to hide it from himself deep down there.

And then Steve just felt sorry for Mac. Wondered how someone could live with something eating away inside of them, with no one to share it with.

Steve pulled him into a hug, and Mac didn’t really reciprocate, but he didn’t push away. Steve didn’t care. He knew a hug was what Jack would have done: cared for someone who barely seemed to care for themselves.

 

 

Riley trudged up the steps to the apartment over the bar. Sam bounded ahead of her, and Riley wondered where all the energy came from. After standing all day and night behind the bar, she was worn out and wondered how Sam could still be so energetic.

Their apartment was small, but warm and cozy. It was just one big room. Originally it had been the office for the business downstairs. Now it operated as living space instead. Since Riley kept all of their records computerized and backed up there was no need for big filing cabinets and heaps and heaps of paper. The entire office had been distilled into one little laptop that sat on the desk in the corner. Instead they’d transformed the place into a comfortable home; kitchen along one wall, TV on another with an old couch in front of it, bed in the corner hidden by a curtain. There were Christmas lights strung along the walls everywhere in seemingly no pattern that made any sense, but they both loved the erratic chaos of it. Plus the light was pretty.

As soon as they were inside, Riley kicked her boots off and fell down onto the couch, resting her head back and closing her eyes.

Sam sat down next to her, light as a feather, barely causing the cushions to sink.

“You ok?” Sam asked, all tenderness and concern.

“Yeah,” Riley sighed out so much air with the word that it barely sounded like a word.

“You sure?”

Riley opened her eyes and looked over at Sam. She was turned toward Riley, leaning against the back of the couch. The concern in her hazel eyes was touching.

“I’m good,” Riley said, less than convinced.

“It’s ok if you’re not,” Sam assured her, sliding a little closer. “After the other night-”

“I was just upset,” Riley cut her off. The night Steve told her he was leaving had been bad. It was rare for Riley to get so emotional. Angry, yes, on a regular basis. Anger was her way to deal. But grief was something else. And she’d been unprepared for it wash over her, consume her. Sam had been there for the whole thing. Sam had held her close and run her fingers through her hair. Let her cry and not made her feel ashamed about feeling whatever she was feeling. Just that soft, gentle, beautiful voice coaxing her back from wherever she’d been lost.

Sam moved a little closer, without seeming to move at all. Her stealthy little magic trick. They tried to keep each other at arm’s length in the bar. They were not PDA people. Instead they kept things professional. So it always took them a few minutes after work to unwind and remember that they were allowed to touch and be close again. Usually Sam was the one to break the boundaries.

Riley wanted to win for once, and reached over to put a hand to Sam’s cheek. Taking the invitation, Sam moved right up against Riley and slipped an arm around her middle. She nuzzled into Riley’s touch and kissed her wrist.

“I’m sad,” Riley admitted. She was still getting used to sharing everything with someone, despite the fact that they’d been together for a few years. She was so used to keeping everything inside and protecting herself. But Jack was right, emotion was nothing to be ashamed of, it didn’t make her weak. She’d shown it to Steve, why not Sam?

“I know,” Sam replied, and then surprised Riley when she added: “me too.”

“Really?” Riley asked, sitting up and turning toward her girl.

“Really,” Sam admitted. “Those guys are like family. They’ve felt like family from the first time I met them when Mark introduced me. And they led me to you. So, of course I’ll miss Steve. And I’m a little worried about Jack.”

“Me too,” Riley said, relaxing back into the couch and pulling Sam with her. They fell back into the cushions, tangled up in each other. She was so light and her bones stuck out sharply. Riley often felt like she was fragile, though she knew Sam was anything but. Riley didn’t mind it though, she liked feeling like she was holding someone and protecting them. Keeping them safe and whole.

“Poor Jack,” Sam said. “It’s a good thing he’s got Mac now.”

Riley chuckled, and met Sam’s eyes. “Yeah, but Mac’s just new. They barely know each other. There’s no guarantee that Mac’s sticking around.”

There was a look in Sam’s eyes that said she knew something. But she was keeping it a secret. Riley didn’t mind. If Sam was keeping something close it was for good reason. And it never worried her. She trusted Sam with everything she had.

“Yeah, no reason for Mac to stick around, really,” Sam sounded unconvinced, and she tucked her head under Riley’s chin. “It’s a good thing Jack’s got us then.”

“Yeah,” Riley said, wondering what exactly Sam knew, the curiosity burning inside her. “He’ll always have us.”

 

 

The light streaming into Jack’s bedroom was the devil himself come with pricking hot pokers straight to the centre of Jack’s brain. The hangover hit him suddenly like a freight train, and as he rolled out of bed and headed to the shower he glanced at the clock.

11:30 AM! He’d slept through the morning. There wasn’t too much time left before he had to get Steve to the airport.

The shower was lightning fast. And the panic and grief that were starting to build up in his chest chased everything but his headache away, and even that ache dulled after he popped some Advil.

Racing through the streets, he didn’t even need to think to navigate from his apartment to Mac’s house, and it had only been a couple days since he’d seen the place for the first time. He took a little bit of comfort in the fact that he had another place that felt like a second home almost immediately. The key to Mac’s front door jingled on his key ring where it hung from the ignition, and made Jack smile.

The front door was unlocked, and Jack bolted through. Ducking into the spare room, he found the bed made perfectly, and Steve’s bag sitting on the crisp bedspread, packed and ready to go.

Jack’s heart sank.

He poked his head in the rest of the rooms, but they were empty, and finally walked out to the deck. Mac wasn’t around, he was playing in the second game. Gone for the day.

Steve sat in one of the deck chairs looking out at the city.

“Hey man,” Steve greeted with a grin, handing Jack a cup of coffee. “Didn’t know if you were going to show up.”

“How is it that you don’t look the least bit hungover?” Jack asked, slumping into a chair next to his best friend. He took the cup and sipped deep, it was hot and loaded up with butter.

“Practice,” Steve answered.

They sat in quiet for a few minutes.

“It’s time to go,” Steve said finally, not looking at Jack.

“I know,” Jack replied. Despite the awkwardness of that moment he wanted to stay in it forever. “Sorry I slept in.”

“No problem man,” Steve said. Jack could hear the smile in his voice. “Jack,” something else in his tone, concern maybe? “I need to… there’s something…”

Steve’s face was worried.

“What is it dude?” Jack asked.

Steve met Jack’s eyes finally. And smiled, but it was sad. Jack smiled a sad smile back, and whatever Steve was going to say disappeared and he didn’t bring it up again.

The drive to the airport was quiet. Jack driving slower than he normally would have, Steve watching the city fly past out the windows.

And before Jack knew what was happening they were standing at security. Ready for goodbyes.

Except Jack wasn’t ready, and almost said it out loud. He tried to smile, but his face would only frown, his eyes stinging with tears.

“Follow your heart man,” Steve said in one of his rare moments of sentiment. “You deserve to be happy. Do what you want and fuck what anybody else says.”

Six months before, following his heart would have meant asking Steve if there was room for another layabout retired major leaguer on that little island of his. But now, all Jack wanted was to keep playing the game. Anybody who was implying or insisting that he should retire, Steve was right: fuck ‘em. There was something in his gut, though, something that knew Steve and knew his tone of voice, and Jack wondered if this wasn’t just about retirement and the game. But if it wasn’t, then he didn’t know what else it meant. What Steve was trying to say?

Steve stepped forward and pulled Jack into a hug.

“Come visit in the off season,” Steve said, “and bring your rookie with you.” There was something in the way he said "your rookie" that Jack couldn’t read. He’d felt tension between Steve and Mac, and didn’t think they had particularly gotten along. A bit of oil and water. Maybe Jack had been wrong about them. He'd been wrong before.

Steve started to pull away from the hug. He was leaving, and Jack’s heart clenched. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye. The words slipped out before he could think about it. “Love you bro,” he said softly.

“Love you too brah,” Steve echoed, putting his Hawaiian spin on it. When he pulled back, he was wearing that goofy, lazy smile of his. And then he was gone; through security and back to his little Jack-less paradise.

Jack’s tears finally fell, when there was no one there to see them. And he wondered, maybe if Mac had been with him, would he have been able to hold them off. No, he decided, he would have cried in front of Mac. 

There were no secrets between them.

 

 

Restless, Jack went home. But it didn’t feel right. He couldn’t sit in that place and just think about Steve. He drove out into the city, and even driving didn’t relieve the pressure in his chest. He was afraid of it, afraid of what would happen when that pressure built too high and exploded. He couldn’t go see Riley, he was afraid of that too. He needed to be strong for her and he couldn’t do that. He didn’t even consider going to the ballpark to be with the team. The nostalgia that place held, the memories of Steve, wasn’t what he needed.

So Jack let his hands steer the car and take him where he really wanted to go: Back to Mac’s. The rookie would be another few hours yet. The game was scheduled early, but after post-game interviews and maybe even going out to celebrate with the guys, Mac wouldn’t be home until the evening sometime.

Jack used his key to get in. The house was silent around him, breathing steady breaths of warm afternoon air that were buffeted through the windows by the constant breeze that living up in the hills brought with it. There was something about a quiet house. The buzzing of the refrigerator; rooms left dark, lit by the afternoon sun.

Jack’s feet wandered to the spare room. Steve had only stayed a few days, but it still smelled like him. The scent of Hawaii that he brought with him everywhere: sand, salt, and sun. It eased the ache in Jack, as though at any moment Steve would follow that smell into the room. He couldn’t help but think that the pillows of that bed would smell even more like Steve, and found his feet carrying him toward it before he could reconsider. But he stopped short at the corner of the mattress.

What was he doing? When had he become such a sentimental idiot?

Jack turned away from the bed, left the room, and closed the door behind him. Though a lingering thought at the back of his mind wondered if he could find an excuse to stay the night and sleep in the spare room.

 

 

Jack was in the middle of a TV marathon. Some police procedural show. He wasn’t paying attention. He’d put it on to pass the time, but his mind just couldn’t focus on anything.

Then he heard Mac’s key in the door, and a sudden awkward guilt took over. He was sitting in Mac’s house, watching Mac’s TV, and hadn’t even asked permission.

Jack sat up straighter, unsure exactly what he was going to say. How would he play this off? What was his excuse? I was feeling sad and emotional and didn’t want to go home?

The door opened, and Jack heard a bag drop to the floor, the bat inside echoing hollowly.

What if he’d brought a girl home? First week in the big leagues, if Mac went out with the guys he’d be bringing girls home left, right and centre. 

Jack cursed himself, and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was way too early for Mac to be coming home with a girl. Way too early for him to have even been out with the boys.

Mac came around the corner into the living room, looking panicked. He was alone. “Why aren’t you answering your phone?” He asked Jack, seemingly unconcerned that someone was sitting on his couch. “What the hell is the matter with you?” He was genuinely angry, scowling in Jack’s direction before he went back to the front door, and yelled something out toward the driveway.

Mac slammed the door and came back to the living room.

“Mac, I…” Jack trailed off, unsure what to say, what excuse to use.

Mac flopped down onto the couch next to Jack. 

Mac sighed. “I was worried about you, that’s all. Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

Jack pulled his cell out of his pocket and hit the Home button. The screen remained blank. He tried the power button. Nothing. “Must’a died,” Jack admitted. “I didn’t even notice.” He tossed the useless phone onto the coffee table.

Mac relaxed more and more by the minute, sinking into the couch next to Jack, as they both stared at the TV screen.

“What the hell are you watching?” Mac asked after a minute.

“I just put on some crappy cop show,” Jack said. “Pass the time.”

“Well, let’s switch it up,” Mac said, grabbing the remote and switching over to his digital movies. “What about…” He clicked through menu after menu. “James Bond marathon? Sound good? We’ll order pizza, have a few beers…” He looked at Jack questioningly.

“Sounds like a plan,” Jack smiled and it felt like the first time he’d done it in days, though he knew that wasn’t true.

Mac tossed his phone to Jack. “Here, you order the pizza,” he said, clicking through the different Bond movies. “And no olives this time. It’s nasty.”

“What are you doing?” Jack asked, motioning to the screen.

“Looking for a good one,” Mac said.

“You’re _skipping_ all the good ones,” Jack countered.

“Naw, I’m not a fan of Connery,” Mac said offhand.

Jack sat forward on the couch. “Excuse me?” He said, offended. “Sean Connery is the best Bond.”

“I prefer Daniel Craig,” Mac admitted.

Jack grumbled and shook his head while he unlocked Mac’s phone and dialled the pizza place.

“Ok, what say we compromise,” Mac said. “We’ll alternate Bonds.”

“Deal,” Jack agreed. “Hey Mac?”

“Yeah?” Mac answered absently, still looking through movies.

“How come you were so worried about me?” Jack asked.

Mac paused, and looked over at Jack like he was asking a stupid question. “You put Steve on his plane today, and then you weren’t answering your phone,” he said simply. “Thought you might be upset, and I didn’t want you to be alone.”

Jack nodded. It was nice to have a best friend again.

 

 

The movie marathon went late. There was enough Bond in the world to fill days, let alone a single night. Jack didn’t want to leave, and he didn’t feel pressured to. Mac hadn’t offered the spare room, but Jack felt the invitation hanging in the air. So they just kept queueing up movies and eating pizza. Jack kept to a minimum on the beers, not wanting to become a drunken emotional mess about Steve.

Jack’s eyes drifted closed several times, only to snap open at the sound of gunfire during an action scene. Until finally even the gunfire didn’t rouse him anymore and he drifted off to sleep.

 

 

Running through grass. Toward the infield. But the infield never came. The cracking of a bat. The slap of rawhide on leather glove. The taunting laugh of Murdoc from the dugout. All of these things happened at once but were separate events. Jack felt turned in circles. The stands were empty. James Bond waited on the mound, his gun pointed toward the outfield. Jack ducked, but the gunfire continued to crack. 

“This way!” Mac called. Jack turned to look for him and found the rookie waiting at the door to the bullpen. Jack bolted for it. Mac grabbed his hand and pulled him down into the dark unlit tunnels underneath the ballpark. It was pitch black and smelled earthy.

“I think he got me,” Jack said, rubbing at his neck. It hurt. A strange dull pain radiating up into his skull.

 

 

The ache woke Jack up, and slowly he came back. He was warm, a weight pressed against his shoulder. His head was leaned back on the couch at an angle that hurt, kinking up the muscles in the back of his neck. He’d fallen asleep at Mac's watching movies. He looked up slowly to see Daniel Craig striding through a field backlit by fire.

Sleep was trying to drag Jack back down, but he knew he needed to move if he was going to be able to move his damn neck in the morning. He moved to sit forward, thinking he would shut the TV off and go to the spare room. But the weight pressing against him kept him from moving. He looked to the side. Mac was leaned into Jack's side, breathing deep, slumped over, head on Jack’s shoulder. He looked so at peace, so comfortable. Jack didn’t have the heart to move. Didn’t have the heart to wake the rookie. Instead he shifted down a little on the couch so his neck was supported by the cushions and let himself drift back off.

 

 

The feel of an arm around Jack woke him. Still half asleep, the warm body against him felt good. He didn’t open his eyes, or even wake up all the way, he just shifted and put an arm around whoever he was sleeping next to. He pulled them close, and moved until he was in a more comfortable position before he let sleep tug him down again.

 

 

Jack’s face was warm. He saw red through his closed eyelids, the sun shining in as he came up from sleep. The memories of the night before were bubbling back to the surface, but they were still vague and fuzzy. He was comfortable, so he took his time remembering, content that he was warm and cozy. It didn’t feel like his bed, and he had his arm around someone, but that didn’t seem so bad. Especially since they fit up against him perfectly.

Jack was prepared to see a one night stand he’d brought home, but the memories came back in a flood as he opened his eyes.

He’d fallen asleep on Mac’s couch. With Mac. They were laying together. Somehow, in the middle of the night, they’d gone from sitting up to laying down and tangled up in each other. The rookie’s blonde hair was splayed across Jack’s chest; a messy nest of gold lit up by the sunlight streaming through the windows. Jack’s arm was wrapped around Mac’s shoulders, and Mac’s was snug around Jack’s stomach, his hand gripping tightly to Jack’s shirt in his sleep. So little room on the couch meant that Mac was half on top of Jack, their legs intertwined. It was so intimate. 

Too intimate. 

Jack’s heart leapt up into his throat. Instinctively he gripped Mac tighter, pulling him closer. Mac groaned sleepily and nuzzled into Jack’s chest. Mac’s hot breath through t-shirt sent a thrill down Jack’s spine.

Jack’s brain was coming out of its sleepy haze. More than anything he didn’t want to wake Mac. It felt so right to hold his best friend close. They fit so perfectly together.

But it wasn’t right. Fighting against everything that told him to stay, to be warm and happy and go back to sleep, Jack suddenly rolled sideways, planting his feet on the floor. The motion sent Mac tumbling from the couch, and Jack fumbled to catch him, but didn’t make it in time.

Mac sat up on the floor, startled and anxiously awake, hands raking that golden hair out of his face. “What the hell? Who? When did… what happened?” He looked over at Jack, and then ran his hands down the side of his body that had recently been pressed against Jack.

Jack looked away, feeling guilty. He grabbed for one of the half-empty water bottles on the coffee table and gulped the rest of the contents to avoid saying anything.

“I guess we… fell asleep,” Mac said, leaning back against the couch.

Jack grunted a noise that sounded something like “yes,” not trusting his vocal cords to hold in the awkward confusing mess of emotions that was stirring in his chest. But his mind was drawn back to that comfortable position. The way Mac’s body had fit snugly against him; how it was the best sleep he’d had in a long time; how he hadn’t wanted to get up at all.

Jack shook his head to get his brain working right again. The more his head cleared, the more Jack understood there wasn’t anything strange between them. They’d fallen asleep watching a movie. In their sleep they’d stretched out on the couch. There wasn’t anything weird about it. Jack was just overthinking things. Finally he summoned the guts to look in Mac’s face, and found the rookie looking back with those eyes that were painfully blue.

Mac held Jack’s eyes for a minute, looking like he was trying to string words together to say something, until his eyes uncomfortably slid away from Jack’s. They landed on the clock on the wall that ticked away the awkward silence between them and Mac jumped, scrambling to his feet. “Shit! We’re really late!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And for becauseimawinchester: for asking for more Riley - you hugely inspired Riley and Sam's moment. And it was a perfect fit! THANK YOU!


End file.
